The Aftermath
by Terp4Life
Summary: Post s1 Finale. Weller is devastated. Jane has been arrested. Will they be able to come back from this? (Based on the s2 preview, this is the kinder, gentler version of what happened to Jane after the s1 finale... I'm apparently not nearly as mean to her as Martin Gero)
1. Lies

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: As I watched the final scene of the Blindspot season 1 finale as it aired, I was already wondering what I would write that would follow it. This morning I woke up bursting with ideas, and had 1,800 words before my kids even woke up. This is only the beginning, and I hope you like it. :)_

JANE

She cringed at the look in his eyes even more than the fact that he was pointing his gun at her. He had never looked at her like _that_ before. Like she was a stranger. Not just a stranger, an _enemy_. He didn't just mistrust her, there was far more than that in his eyes as he stared at her, his gun not lowering as he recited her Miranda rights.

Her _rights_.

She was being _arrested_.

 _By Kurt_.

It was completely unreal, except that no, it was painfully real. She felt tears begin to slide down her face, which was already black with smeared makeup and soot from the fire that she'd only barely escaped. She didn't bother to try to wipe them away. That didn't matter now. None of it mattered.

Memories flooded before her eyes, a slideshow of split second images of the times they had shared in the relatively short time that they'd known each other. A few of them cut her especially deeply. That undercover mission to retrieve the WitSec list from Rich DotCom, when they'd masqueraded as husband and wife. Waiting for him outside his apartment that night and then kissing him, watching the surprise on his face. Even just a short number of hours ago, when he had kissed _her_ in the locker room. It had been painful to have been removed from the team, but that kiss had softened the blow, let her know that she wasn't alone in how she felt about him, how she had felt about him for so long without wanting to admit it. She had lost her place but she had still had _him._

The images that flashed before her eyes took places at different places and in different circumstances, but every one of them had something in common. In every one of them, his eyes spoke the same words to her. She couldn't even form the words in her own mind, but she saw them on his face. Whatever they were, she felt that he understood her. And accepted her. And trusted her. That he _knew_ her… whether or not she had been Taylor.

 _Taylor Shaw._

Maybe once upon a time it had all been because he'd assumed that she was Taylor Shaw. Maybe that was what had drawn him to her in the beginning, or maybe not. She knew now that she wasn't Taylor, and he seemed to have found out in a much more painful way than even she had. She remembered back at the beginning of it all, when she had so desperately wanted to be Taylor, _for him_. To be the one that he had been searching for for so long, if for no other reason than to finally bring him peace.

Anyone could see how haunted he was, how haunted he had been for twenty five years, because he had never found her… Taylor. Jane had had nothing whatsoever back then, not even her own memories, and therefore nothing to give him in return for everything he did for her. All she could do was to take from him: his kindness, his time… and give him nothing in return. But if she was Taylor and she could ease his mind that way, the way that he had always eased hers just by his presence alone, then that was something she wanted.

That had only been in the beginning, of course. It had been a long time since she'd stopped worrying that if she wasn't Taylor Shaw, he wouldn't feel the same way about her that she _thought_ he did. Or at least, she had _thought_ that she had stopped worrying. He had actually once told her in so many words that who she had been before didn't matter anymore. That who she was _now_ was what was important. She had told herself that it didn't matter who she had been. But who _was_ she now? Certainly not anyone that she was proud of, that was for sure.

She was Jane Doe, of course, but the question of her name was no longer something that bothered her, at least not as consciously as it had at first. She had wanted desperately to believe that she was a good person, a person worthy of the trust and faith that Kurt and the team had put in her, and eventually she _had_ believed it. She felt like she made decisions that showed that she cared about the people around her, and she had been treated with kindness and faith in return. But now? She thought back on her more recent actions. Not on that person that she'd allegedly been _before_ , but only barely remembered in black and white flashes, but **her**. Jane. The woman who she remembered, the one she'd been with Kurt, the one who had made the decisions that she remembered consciously making.

The thing about losing your memory was that not remembering who you had once been quickly became a convenient excuse to start over. After all, there was no other choice. No one can erase their past, no matter how bad it may be, but when you can't remember it, it can't haunt you. Right? But now she had a string of decisions that she had made, decisions that she could look back on and think that maybe she wasn't such a good person after all. Maybe she _wasn't_ the person who Kurt thought she was, Taylor or not Taylor, the person who deserved his trust, his loyalty and his devotion.

No, she wasn't that person. So who _was_ she? She was someone who had lied to Kurt, over and over, and confided in Oscar. _Oscar_. The name tasted bitter in her mouth as she realized exactly what she had done, what she had sacrificed. She had wanted to believe the things he'd said, because he was the only real link to her past, to the answers she had so desperately craved. She saw only now, now that she had brought everything crashing down on herself, that she never should have trusted him. That it had all been a lie.

 _Oscar's agenda_ – _our agenda,_ her mind corrected her fiercely, but she could not allow the thought to continue further than that. _No, his agenda_ , she insisted to herself, _had been… what?_ To get rid of Mayfair, to start, he had told her finally, but ultimately… what then? It didn't matter anymore. She never should have trusted him. She saw that now, only now when it was far too late. She had burned everything she had had to the ground along with that barn. No, long before the barn. That fire had simply taken care of destroying the last remains.

She hadn't _erased_ her past this time, she had obliterated it. And the worst part was, she didn't have the luxury of forgetting. That would have been so much easier.

Not that she _wanted_ to forget. No, what she wanted was to undo her choices, the ones where she had let herself stop confiding in Kurt, where she had chosen Oscar and his promise of answers over the man who she _knew_ beyond the shadow of a doubt was on her side. She didn't care what Oscar had said about him or the rest of them, Kurt Weller and his team were not corrupt, not people that she needed to fight against. Not before, not now, not ever. Kurt was a decent man and she knew, with more certainty than she knew anything else, that he _could_ be trusted. Hell, he was a thousand times more trustworthy than _she_ was, herself. She'd proven that.

Whatever corruption Oscar had believed existed at the FBI, Kurt was _not_ a part of it. He was no traitor, and there was nothing that would convince her otherwise.

So she had thrown it all away – Kurt's trust and whatever had been between them, along with her chance to work as part of his team to follow the clues that helped them solve the crimes that were indelibly recorded on her skin. Whatever the reason and however they'd gotten there, whoever had put them there… it was almost irrelevant now. Or maybe not irrelevant, but moot. It was done. Even if they were ever all removed – though from what she'd heard about the removal process, she wasn't sure that she could endure something like that _all over_ her entire body – that wouldn't change the fact that they had been there. All it would do would be to erase the chance to get to the truth of so many different wrongs that could only be accomplished by following the clues they had been left. But now it didn't matter. She'd thrown away the chance to do any of that, without removing a single tattoo.

No, he had never looked at her like that before, the way he was looking at her at that moment. What she saw now in his eyes was anger, and hurt, and betrayal. Was there _hatred_ there? She couldn't be sure. She cringed at the thought that he could _hate_ her… It cut deeply into her, having seen love in his eyes so many times. She could see what she had done to him.

 _Right now he might hate you_ , the rational part of her mind reminded her. _His father just died yesterday, and it seems that he confessed to killing Taylor Shaw before he did. That would be enough to put a person over the edge. So like you, he_ _ **just**_ _found out that you're not Taylor. He's conflicted in every way possible. And it's not that you_ _ **have**_ _to be Taylor, and it's not that he can't adjust to the idea. It's not as though you made him think that you were Taylor on purpose. The only time you lied about_ _ **that**_ _, you did it to protect him from Oscar's threat. Is being lied to better than being_ _ **dead**_ _? Yes, of course._

 _It was_ _ **Kurt**_ _who wanted you to be Taylor, and Oscar who confirmed it. He did this to you, Oscar, and he did it to Kurt as well, along with_ _ **her**_ _, the woman who wasn't Taylor after all, whatever her_ __ _name was—_

Her mind tried to interject that that _she_ was the "her" it was referring to, her from before, and not actually another person, but her thoughts continued to flow, ignoring her protests.

 _-Whatever_ _ **her**_ _name was, it wasn't you._ _ **YOU ARE JANE**_ _. Or you can call yourself something else, whatever you want to in fact. But you are not_ _ **her**_ _. Even though you are_ _ **physically**_ _the same person, you are_ _ **not**_ _her._

Another voice broke into her mind then. _I may not be_ _ **her**_ _,_ it insisted, _but it_ _ **was**_ _me who lied to Kurt about Oscar, even if it was only a lie of omission at first. I didn't tell him the truth, not all of it. I was selfish because I wanted answers. I knew that I could trust Kurt with absolutely anything, and I knew that I_ _ **couldn't**_ _trust Oscar, and yet… I let myself do it anyway. I didn't just trust him, I gave myself to him… And in the end I was_ _ **right**_ _about him, that I couldn't trust him, and now look where it has gotten me. I've burned myself to the ground._

She swallowed and willed herself to be numb to what was happening around her. She put her hands on her head as Kurt demanded, and tried not to feel the sharp pinch of the handcuffs he slapped around her wrists, extra tight, it seemed. She tried not to feel it as he pulled her roughly to her feet, pushed her forward across the room toward the door. The care that she had always felt in his touch was gone, and she swore the coldness of his stare also radiated from his skin, spreading the awful, numb feeling to her even through her clothes when he pushed her forward.

She tried not to feel the way he twisted his grip on the handcuffs so that her wrists twisted too, making the cold metal dig into her skin that much more. She knew that he was doing it on purpose. He'd arrested enough people to know how to handle them without hurting them if he wanted to. Right now, she knew, he was hurting on so many levels, and he was focusing on hurting her as well. She couldn't blame him. After all, she was partly to blame, and that was more than enough.

Ever since she had started lying to Kurt, Jane had known that it was going to come back to bite her in the ass somehow. After all, she knew that Kurt had trusted her implicitly. He had put his faith in her when most people wouldn't have even considered doing so. He'd talked the whole team into having her in the field, and they trusted his judgement. It was simply impossible that he wouldn't find out that she'd lied at some point. He'd found out in the worst possible way, of course. Maybe if she'd come clean it would have been better. Maybe if he wasn't under the stress of his father's death and bedside confession. But maybe if events hadn't forced them into this situation, she'd have been too scared to tell him the truth. Again, it didn't matter now.

Thinking back, she recalled the very beginning, the connection between them that had simply _always_ been there, since the first time they'd laid eyes on each other. Kurt had thought that maybe it was because she was Taylor, but now they knew the truth. So what _was_ it based on? She wasn't Taylor, and yet… the connection had been there. Maybe they would never know what it had been... It almost didn't matter though, because now it was gone, leaving nothing in its wake but an emptiness that threatened to overwhelm her.

This reminded her of the beginning, when she'd lay on the floor of the safe house that first night, horrified by the tattoos and feeling scared and violated and so very alone… except that this was worse. Because now she felt all of those things again, and she felt heartbreaking guilt as well. Guilt that she could never make up for, never undo.

 _He'll never forgive me_ , she thought miserably. She tried to numb herself to that thought as well, but the hurt cut too deep inside her.

 _He will calm down_ , the rational part of her brain insisted. _You will have a lot of explaining to do, and there is a lot for him to forgive. You may not get back what you had. You know Kurt well enough to know that he is emotional deep down, though he doesn't let it show. He's traumatized right now, but he will calm down. He needs time, and patience. After all, a person can only endure so much at once. You, of all people, should know that much. He's lost his balance, but he will get it back. You've made your decisions and this is the consequence. Now you need to accept responsibility for what you've done, think rationally, and do what you should have done all along – which is tell him the truth._

 _But what if it's not enough?_ the other voice in her head asked desperately.

 _If it's not enough, it's not enough,_ the calm voice replied. _But you know that it's the right thing to do, no matter what. And you've fucked it all up very nicely, yes, so now it's time to face the music. You wanted to believe that what you were doing was the right thing for_ _ **you**_ **.** _And maybe it was, maybe it wasn't. This is your reality. So explain it to him – ALL OF IT this time. You can't force him to forgive you any more than you can force yourself to remember your past. All you can do is the right thing_ _ **now**_ _. And if you're really the person that you_ _ **want**_ _to be – the person who does the right thing – then you'll finally tell him everything. And if he's really the person that you think he is, then eventually he will understand._

Her mind was racing and yet numb at the same time. She could no longer process her feelings as she felt herself being pushed into the back of his SUV and locked inside, still in handcuffs, as she watched him pacing outside, phone to his ear. He didn't look back at her once, and she knew that he probably wouldn't look at her again for a long time. She silenced the voice in her head, both of them. The one that blamed herself, and the one that didn't. Staring out at nothing, she let her mind wander, doing her best not to think at all.

 _You deserve it_ , she thought. _All of it. You don't… but you do._

 _After all, you did this to yourself._

This time, she couldn't be horrified and she couldn't deny it. This time, it was the truth.

This time, she remembered. All of it.


	2. It's Over

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: Thank you for reading, favoriting and following this story so far! I've loved hearing your comments on chapter 1. :) Now it's Kurt's turn._

KURT

He wasn't really sure how long it'd been since he had been able to think clearly. The fog that clouded Kurt's brain made rational thought really, really difficult, maybe even impossible. The previous night, when he'd sat by his father's bedside, knowing that it was the end… well, he had made peace with it. They hadn't had a good relationship since before Taylor had disappeared, twenty-five years before – so, for most of his life. In the end, they'd forgiven each other for whatever sins had been committed against each other, deserved or not, and that was all they could do. It was a shame, so many years wasted, but that was just the way it had happened. Of course Kurt felt sadness, and guilt, and so many other things, but not in a way that it prevented him from functioning.

At least, not _yet._

Then, in the final moments, his father had been desperate to tell him something. Kurt had leaned over to try to hear his father's quiet, mumbled words, and what he'd heard… well, that was when Kurt's whole world had shattered into a million pieces – just like it had when he was ten years old, except this was a hundred times worse. Or maybe not a hundred, maybe a thousand or more. After twenty-five years of accumulated guilt and pain and loss, after beginning to grudgingly forgive the man he'd spent his life hating, to have his father finally admit that _had_ in fact killed his best friend, Taylor Shaw, and then lied about it for all that time… that his father _had_ been responsible for how completely fucked up his life had been, and not just a victim of circumstance, as Sarah seemed so willing and able to believe… and that he had _gotten away with it_ … Well, it would have been too much for _anyone_ to deal with rationally. It would have driven _anyone_ more than a little bit out of their mind _._

However, the fact that it had long since been accepted by himself and the rest of the team – since the DNA test, back at the beginning – that Jane _was_ Taylor, all grown up and in the flesh… inside his head, this multiplied the agony exponentially. Because that meant that _not only_ did the peace that he'd thought that he'd found not exist after all, not only had he been _right_ all those years when he'd believed that his father had killed his childhood best friend, besides all of it, _she'd_ _lied_. He really _didn't_ know her after all.

Jane. The woman he'd come to trust against all reason. She represented all of his instincts, his intuition, his judgement. He'd let her inside the walls that he'd built to protect himself over so many years, at least as much as he was able to, which was more than he'd done for anyone else. She had been _the one_ , he had been absolutely certain… and he'd been absolutely _wrong._

He'd been… what? A mark? A mission? _A goddamn idiot_ , that's what he'd been. He couldn't decide which strand of the betrayal he felt hurt worst, but it didn't matter, because he couldn't separate them anyway. They were all twisted together inside him, so tightly that he would have ripped out his own heart if he could have, just to make it all stop.

Never mind that Jane had come to the FBI with no memory. Never mind that _Kurt_ had been the one to suggest, and then, when there were doubts, to _insist_ , that she was Taylor. Never mind that he had told her countless stories of their childhood, to the point that he'd probably made her _feel_ that she remembered… Never mind how desperately he'd _wanted_ her to be Taylor. Not because it made her any more important to him – _well, maybe at first_ … something inside him admitted reluctantly. "… _but only at first –_ but because if Jane was Taylor then finally, _finally_ , he had some hope of atoning for not being able to protect her when he was ten. Not that he could _ever_ make up for her abduction or the horrible things that may have happened to her in those twenty-five years, no matter how many other people he saved, but he could ease his conscience at least a little knowing that he'd gotten justice for her, and that, through the tattoos, he would solve the mystery of what had happened. No, he could never make up for failing her like that, but at least he had the chance to _try._

Except that Jane was _not_ Taylor, and Kurt had been betrayed. Not just betrayed. He couldn't think of a stronger word for it, but betrayed simply did not feel strong enough. He was conscious of the fact that much of this feeling of betrayal should be directed at his father. Most of it, really. If not for his father's actions, none of this would have even been possible. He was so angry with his father, he couldn't even _think_ about the man anymore, his rage toward him so white hot and blinding.

And yet, somehow it bled over to Jane as well. Besides, his father was gone, and Jane was still there. She still had the absolute audacity to breathe, to exist. He couldn't quite work out what part she'd had in all of this, but she'd deceived him as well, and at that moment that was all he needed to know in order for him to heap her share of the blame on her – far more than her share, actually – as well. The degrees of guilt didn't really matter, after all, did they? Because she was most obviously guilty. He couldn't believe it had taken him so long to see it.

 _I was such a goddamn fool_ , he lamented, clenching his fist tightly.

Because let's be honest, even if wasn't _all_ her fault, it wasn't as though she was _innocent_ in all this. Hadn't she eventually _said_ that she remembered bits and pieces of their childhood? How _could_ she, if she wasn't Taylor? Had someone simply told her about it? Or had she made it up? Had the memories been implanted? _And most importantly,_ _ **why had she lied?**_ _What exactly did she want from him?_

His brain, which was trained to ask questions from every possible angle in order to get results, refused to stop generating new lines of inquiry, new directions from which to come at the issue, even though few, if any, of them could be answered. The questions continued to pour forth from him, angry and hostile and full of rage. He knew that it wasn't solving anything to sit and seethe like this, but he couldn't help it. What else _could_ he do, but wait?

 _I can't trust her,_ was all he could think, hearing the voice of reason and putting it into a chokehold, even as it pled for him to be sensible.

 _You_ _ **know**_ _Jane,_ it shrieked _, she wouldn't…_

And he may have been able to consider this explanation if not for the fact that she _had_ claimed to remember, even just a little bit. If only she had never claimed to remember being Taylor, then just maybe, he could believe her now. But she had, and so he couldn't.

 _You're rewriting history,_ said the more reasonable voice in his head, his chokehold around it having loosened slightly, from the far reaches of his brain where he'd thrown it, not willing to listen to it any longer. _How many times did she_ _ **agonize**_ _over the fact that she didn't remember? How many times did you watch her break down over that very thing? You're going to tell me that you think all that was an_ _ **act**_ _? No one can pretend like that._ He tried to summon up the various times she'd crumbled in front of him, and there had been many, but all he saw now were images of her with a glint of malice in her eyes, knowing that she had fooled him.

The voice in his head persisted. _Come on, Weller, you're a better judge of character than that. In your heart, you_ _ **know**_ _that those breakdowns were real._

 _Apparently I'm not a good judge of character at all_ , he replied coldly to the voice, and then closed the door in his mind against it, letting the rest of its pleas fall on deaf ears. It had all been a goddamn fucking lie. He didn't know who she was. He had _no idea_. He thought back to kissing her in the locker room, and the intensity of his feelings for her, and it made him feel physically sick to his stomach. He wanted to throw up right then and there, actually felt bile rising in his throat, knowing that he'd been fooled like that. He had always prided himself on being a good fucking judge of character, and here he'd been lied to by not one but _two_ people who had allegedly been important figures in his life. Well, no more.

Except that… what about the connection between them, between him and Jane – or whoever she really was? He felt a pain in his chest, a burning sensation, a feeling of falling, of losing something desperately important. He had to admit it, if he was being honest: even before he'd had the idea that she was Taylor, that connection had been there. He was sure of it… _Hadn't it_? He shook his head against the assault of emotions raging inside his head. There was simply too much happening inside him, and too many memories of what had happened between the two of them since then, for him to remember accurately back to the beginning. The version of events in his head now was wrong, he knew this objectively, and yet it felt so painfully clear, so real.

 _How could this be happening?_

He took a deep breath, willing it to go away. All of it. He tried to focus only on the present moment, where he sat on the worn couch in Jane's living room, still feeling the damp from the rain that had soaked him to the bone as he'd dug up the campsite in Pennsylvania. How many hours had it been since he'd gotten back? He couldn't even remember what exactly he'd told Sarah when he'd stopped back at the house to tell her what had happened. He imagined that it hadn't made any sense whatsoever - chances were that it was mostly incoherent babble.

At some point he'd called in what he'd found, though he couldn't even remember who he'd spoken to, only that it wasn't anyone on his team. He knew that he'd probably behaved like a lunatic, both on the phone and with Sarah, and he felt badly for leaving her to deal with the aftermath of his discovery. But he just couldn't be there, and he knew that she understood that. His sister was, and always had been, a saint when it came to her level of patience with him.

Kurt knew that Sarah knew enough about the situation to explain what had happened to whoever came to investigate, and he also knew they'd find him later to follow up and to get his statement. She'd told him to go, worrying about him being by himself in that state but knowing that when it came to Taylor Shaw, there had never been anything that anyone could say to make it better, and that this was something he was going to need a lot of time and space to process. It always had been, and now it would be a thousand times worse. Besides, he wouldn't have accepted her help if she'd tried, so it was easier not to argue with him. She could see how badly her brother was hurting already.

Kurt wasn't quite sure that he believed Sarah when she said that she'd be fine at their childhood house for the night, but all he knew was that he had to get back to New York. To do what? He didn't know. How could he fix any of this? It felt impossible. It _was_ impossible. There was no fixing it now, any of it. There was only dealing with it.

So now here he sat in the dark of Jane's safe house, head in his hands, his heartbeat hammering in his ears as he waited. He'd been so sure, so sure that he knew her so well, and that none of what he _didn't_ know about her mattered. He'd known without a shadow of a doubt that she was a good person, that who she'd been before didn't matter, and he'd told her so. Even now, the words echoed in his mind. He had never been more sure of _anything_ … but when it came down to it, he really didn't know her after all, not one little bit.

The one thing he _did_ know almost for certain was that if he sat there long enough, she would show up. And so sit there he did, alone with only this thoughts, spiraling deeper and deeper into an abyss that threatened to swallow him.

At some point, he stood up and helped himself to the contents of one of the liquor bottles on the counter, settling himself again in a chair in front of the board on which Jane had pinned up… well, suffice it to say that it reminded him a lot of the whiteboards in the office where they posted all of the information that they had about a case, along with relevant pictures. She had made her own, but with so many more scraps, tidbits… it was like a visual stream of consciousness, like he was looking inside her mind. For some reason, this made him even angrier and more suspicious of her. Maybe because the contents of her mind apparently contained many things that she hadn't wanted him to know about, or so it appeared from what he saw there in front of him.

 _She isn't who I thought she was,_ he thought bitterly as he looked up at the wall beside him, downing his first drink in one gulp and pouring another. He looked away from the board, suddenly no longer able to stand the sight of it. Instead he stared across the room at the blank wall opposite him, feeling the knot of anger release itself ever so slightly as the alcohol took effect. He didn't feel less angry, exactly, just more… focused. Not relaxed, but less tense. Less rage and more… numb, but at the same time… intense was the only way to describe it.

This had all started with his father, but his father was gone. Somewhere deep inside he knew that his father was the one he should be so furious with, but the longer he sat there, the more he felt his rage transfer from his father to Jane.

 _She did this,_ he thought bitterly, finishing the contents of his glass again and pouring yet another drink. He felt as though someone had gutted him, not physically, of course, but emotionally. It was as though someone had taken every one of the things he had ever felt about anyone or anything and removed them from his body. Suddenly he felt none of it, just perfectly numb. As he sat in the chair and stared at the wall across from him, he didn't even notice his hands clench into fists. There he sat for what felt like eternity, unmoving, feeling the pressure slowly building inside him. Little by little, anger and betrayal seeped back into him, filling his empty insides until he felt like he would burst.

 _This is not you,_ the voice in the back of his head pleaded. _And this is not her. Don't do anything stupid._

That voice, of course, didn't stand a chance.

Finally, he heard the telltale jingle of Jane's keys, and she came through the door, looking like she'd been through hell. He didn't notice her looks, however, only that suddenly she was there in front of him. _The object of his rage. The imposter_. Who the hell was she, anyway? _She has a lot of nerve being here,_ he thought to himself, the fact that he was in _her_ safe house temporarily lost on him. She didn't see him right away, and when she did, she looked startled, uttering his name as a question as if she might be imagining him.

 _You_ _ **are**_ _in her house unexpectedly,_ his rational mind told him. It didn't stop the anger that threatened to overtake him, however. Somehow, he kept his emotions in check, and managed to keep his voice calm.

Something was off about her. Or maybe it was him who was off. Or maybe they were _both_ off, it was hard to know. The alcohol he'd consumed while he'd waited for her hadn't exactly helped him think clearly – not that he'd been clear-headed to start with. But no, her eyes were wider than usual, he was sure, and she looked… afraid. He couldn't remember her ever looking afraid of him before.

 _You never gave her any reason to be afraid of you before_ , he reminded himself. _Afraid, yes, but not of you._

For a second he enjoyed the feeling, watching her squirm where she stood. _She should be afraid,_ he thought. _She deserves to be afraid._

 _But you wouldn't hurt her!_ That voice again. He wished that it would shut the hell up. That voice in his head didn't know _shit_. Would he hurt her? He hadn't decided yet. Then as quickly as the feeling of enjoying the fear in her eyes had come, it was replaced by pure anger, directly solely at her. Not his father, not the fucked up circumstances, no one and nothing else. Only Jane. _Whatever her real name_ is, he spat bitterly into the void of his thoughts. There was no longer any malice towards his father left in him.

Kurt was not a man who allowed himself to lose control of his emotions, but he could feel that he was dangerously close.

"I'm so sorry," she said when she said she'd heard his message about his father's death.

"Are you?" he asked without looking at her, his tone flat.

 _Liar_ , his mind replied icily. He didn't even hear what she said after that, though he saw the confusion in her eyes. There was a humming in his head that seemed to drown out all other sounds.

 _Liar,_ he thought again. _You're not sorry. It's all an act. Every single last bit of it._

"It's funny that we still call you Jane…" He looked up at her then, for the first time since they'd greeted each other with simply their names, no other words. He was looking at a stranger. He didn't know this woman, and he never had. Whatever he'd thought he'd known about her, it had all been a goddamn lie.

With every word he uttered, he noticed that she looked more and more confused. _She knows that you can finally see through her lies_ , the voice in his head said coolly. After all, it all made sense. _She knows that there's no use pretending anymore, but she can't figure out how to cover for herself._

Except that she didn't admit it, didn't admit to her lies, just kept insisting that she didn't know who she was. It was _infuriating_.

"He buried her with it," he told her, and watched her face change. He kept his expression blank and unreadable, kept his rage on the inside. She was horrified, the words finally sinking in as she began to understand what he was saying, and he was enjoying it.

So he put down Taylor's doll in front of him, laid it out on the table for emphasis. And then he told her flat out, watching her closely to gauge her reaction.

"My father… killed… Taylor Shaw."

 _In other words, you're not Taylor. Your game is up_ , he growled at her in his head. He finally had proof.

He found that he delighted in telling her the truth – that Taylor was dead. He knew that he probably shouldn't have enjoyed it, and certainly not as much as he did, but he simply couldn't help it. After all the pain that she'd caused him, how she'd taken advantage of his weakness over his childhood friend, he wished all of this pain on her and more. Infinitely more.

She looked horrified, but she didn't look _surprised_. _So you already knew,_ he thought. _Of course you knew. You knew because it was all a lie._

Deep down, he knew that he had to find a way to calm down before he did something he regretted… except that he was pretty sure that he wouldn't regret anything he might do just then. It wasn't as though he was going to _kill_ her – at least, he didn't _think_ so – and anything short of that seemed almost acceptable.

 _This is_ _ **not**_ _you!_ screamed a tiny voice at the back of his mind. _If not because you're a decent human being, than remember that you're an FBI agent, not a vigilante!_

 _No,_ he replied with eerie calm, _you're wrong about one thing. This_ _ **is**_ _me. I've been a goddamn idiot since this whole thing started with Jane, or whoever the_ _ **fuck**_ _she is. This is who I should've been all along. I can't believe I was so fucking blind._

He stood up then, walking slowly around the corner toward where she was still standing inside the door, still looking terrified. Then he did something that he would never have imagined that he could do. He drew his gun on her.

"Taylor Shaw is dead. So who the hell are you?" The words came out more quietly that he would have expected, and he watched her unblinkingly as he kept his gun pointed at her. Now she would finally tell the truth.

"I don't know," she stammered, looking terrified.

 _Still, she's lying!_ It was making him angrier and angrier every time she opened her mouth. _Why was she still trying to trick him? Couldn't she see that it was over? Couldn't she see that he was now immune to her lies._

She was shaking noticeably as he clicked the handcuffs around her wrists with a satisfying _clink_. He pulled them just a little tighter than usual, just because, then pulled her roughly up to stand and face him, looking coldly into her eyes. The eyes than he now knew had told him so many lies.

"Kurt, please," he heard her beg, but to no avail. There was nothing she could say now that would cover up the truth.

"It's over. Whatever this is, whatever it was about, it's finished." He felt hatred oozing out of him in her direction, and wondered if she could see it in his eyes.

He tried to keep his voice even, tried not to betray any of the anger that he felt, not to give her that satisfaction, as he told her, "Jane Doe, you're under arrest."

He hadn't been there when she'd been in handcuffs the first time, the night they'd found her in Times Square, but he was here now. He pushed her toward the door, twisting the handcuffs just a little tighter so that the metal would pinch her skin just a bit – not enough to leave a mark, but enough to be extremely uncomfortable.

 _I wish I had never met you_ , he told her silently.

He heard a door slam inside his head, and he knew that whatever feelings he'd thought that he had had for her, they were now locked away for good, along with that stupid voice that told him to believe her. He wouldn't _ever_ make that mistake again.

 _A/N: So, now we're caught up with these two poor, wonderful characters, and the "what's next" can start! I know the show will write it completely differently, and a thousand times more cleverly than I ever could, but still, it's fun to give it a try. Besides, I can't leave them here, this angry and destroyed, all summer. It just wouldn't be right! I'm looking as much forward as you are to seeing where this story goes, because it's always the characters that decide, not me. Thanks again for reading!_


	3. Protocol

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: Thank you all for the positive response that this story has gotten so far. I'll try not to let too much time elapse between updates, though I'm juggling fics in three different fandoms plus an original story, so it's tricky… there's just not enough time to write everything I want to write! But enough about that – enjoy!_

JANE

It didn't really surprise her that Kurt left her in the SUV for what felt like an eternity, as more and more agents arrived on the scene. Everything inside her safe house – what little she owned – was now gone. It would be bagged and tagged as evidence, no doubt, every scrap of paper held under a microscope and analyzed until some greater meaning was found. She couldn't imagine how long it would take the techs to deal with the wall where she'd pinned all of her various pieces of evidence from her own personal investigation. Patterson would—

 _Patterson. Shit._

 _And Reade. And Zapata._

She felt the already all-consuming hole in her heart widen and threaten to swallow her once again. It wasn't just Kurt who was going to hate her, it was all of them…

Except… the rest of the team didn't have the personal attachment that Kurt did. Maybe, just _maybe_ , they'd be able to see reason where he couldn't – at least not yet. Reade would be the hardest of the three to convince, she mused. He'd been the most skeptical of her in the beginning. Understandably so, when she looked at the situation objectively. But he'd come around.

Patterson and Zapata… they were her _friends_. Or at least, this would tell her whether they had really been her friends, as she'd thought that they had. The thought that they might react the way Kurt had – probably less intensely, of course, but with equal parts hurt and betrayal – sent her back into the spiral that her mind had finally succeeded in stabilizing itself out of only a little while before, and only because she'd become so numb to it all.

But now she was right back in it. _The team_. She'd been a part of that team. Of a group of people who she genuinely believed were doing something good, no matter what Oscar seemed to believe.

 _Oscar_.

She allowed her thoughts to rest on him for a second. Yes, she had apparently loved him in that frustrating "past life" – for lack of a better term – of hers. She still didn't remember the emotion, only saw the flashes of memories. In her desperation to gain back her past, she'd made more than a few small mistakes in terms of him… he'd misled her, lied to her, kept the truth from her and even now that he was gone, she had no idea how much else he had kept from her. What else was there to know that she now never would? Was there anyone else who knew the pieces of the puzzle that Oscar had known? Anyone else who could put it all together for her?

 _I hate him_ , she thought bitterly. _I hate him for doing this to me._

It was funny, however, because she realized that she didn't hate him for _all_ of it. She hated him for forcing her to betray her team, for letting her think she was Taylor for so long, for misleading her in so many ways, for making her question herself and the few people who she trusted…

But she didn't hate him for wiping her memory. She didn't hate him for sending her to the FBI, to Kurt, in the first place. Granted, she was unable to compare her two lives accurately, because she didn't remember the first one beyond the vague black and white flashes that she saw without warning… but it seemed to her that her life as Jane – until she'd been forced to betray her team, that is – may have been better than her life as… _whoever I was_ , she thought sadly. Or maybe it just seemed that way now.

 _Something is better than nothing._ _That's why you think that. But maybe your first life was great and you just don't remember it. Maybe you just assume that you weren't happy._

 _How great could it have been if I was kidnapped from_ _ **somewhere**_ _and raised as some sort of mutant soldier?_ she demanded of her rational mind, noting with satisfaction that the other voice in her head was unable to answer that question.

She stared out the window, the flashing lights of the other FBI vehicles that had gathered outside of her building blurring in her unfocused vision. As she sat there, dazed, she mourned so many different things. She mourned for Kurt and the many ways that he was hurting, both those that were her fault and those that weren't.

Despite the fact that he would probably never speak to her again, would probably _hate_ her after the way everything had happened between them, she mourned for everything that he had lost. Because after being so close to him, after having had the privilege of knowing him as well as she now did, she could feel nothing but empathy for him. She certainly couldn't be angry with him _._ None of this was his fault, after all.

Any one of the things that had happened to him would have been enough to break most people, at least temporarily. Losing your best friend at ten years old and spending twenty-five years feeling responsible for her disappearance? Thinking that you'd finally found that person, only to discover that your own father had _killed_ that girl, and that the one who you'd come to accept as her was actually someone else? Finding out that the person you'd trusted with so much of yourself wasn't the person you thought they were, that you didn't have a clue _who_ they were or why they'd been sent to you, or by whom? And how would he feel about her when he found out that she'd been involved in Mayfair's takedown? Of her _death_? He didn't even _know_ about those last few yet. She shuddered to think that he would likely get even _angrier_ with her than he was now once he found out.

Jane shivered despite the warmth inside the car. No, she had nothing but compassion for Kurt. He had been wronged so many times over, it was a wonder that he was still functioning – though when she allowed her eyes to focus on him outside the window from time to time, it seemed to her that he wasn't necessarily functioning well – not as the Agent Weller that she knew him to be, calm in any crisis, in control and confident.

When she caught glances of his face now, she saw exactly what she knew that he was feeling. _Rage. Betrayal. Hatred,_ even. _Exhaustion_ , both mental and physical _._ It was a wonder that he hadn't yet been sent home. But then again, Mayfair wasn't there, and it was unlikely that anyone had even found her yet, much less learned what had happened to her. Jane closed her eyes against the images outside the car window, willing it all to go away, for her to just disappear into oblivion and nothingness. Yes, nothingness sounded pretty good right about now.

It was impossible to feel sad over the loss of her former life, the one she didn't remember, but she certainly did feel grief over the loss of what little she had had as Jane. She had fought so hard to make it as far as she had, to accept things the way they were, to accept that though she had a past, she might never remember it beyond the few flashes that she'd had so far… to accept that _if_ she remembered her past, it might horrify the person that she was now.

She'd had to accept living in the present only, trusting her intuition because she had no past experiences that she could draw on… and all that had been monumental. She'd fought tooth and nail to get as far as she had, and the only thing that had stopped her from falling into the depths of despair so many times had been Kurt. His presence alone had always been reassuring, but he had gone out of his way to give her more than that. He'd gone so far as to tell her that the person she had been didn't matter, because she was a good person _now_.

 _And how did you repay him?_ That voice again. She wanted to cover her ears to block it out, but it was in her head, so that would do no good.

But she _wasn't_ a good person now, was she? Her mind rebelled against that notion, and she closed her eyes as she fought to reject the thought violently. _I did what I did to protect him_ , she reminded herself. _I hate that I had to do it, but what was the other choice? He threatened Kurt. I've seen what these people – whoever they are – I've seen what they do to each other, to people they want out of the picture. I couldn't let that happen to Kurt. He hates me now, but he's_ _ **alive**_ _._ It was horrible that she'd had to make that choice, but there had never been anything to choose.

 _You save people, if it's humanly possible,_ she reminded herself. _It's part of why Kurt told you you were a good person. And you did the same thing for him. He just doesn't know it._

 _No,_ her mind countered _, that doesn't make it okay._

 _Nothing about this is okay,_ her reasonable mind screamed. _It isn't okay that you were forced into this. It isn't okay that you were forced to choose between betraying Kurt and watching him die._

She felt as though a heavy blanket had been placed over her, like the shields that are used to cover a patient getting an x-ray to protect the areas not being scanned – not that Jane remembered that sensation, of course. The feeling threatened to suffocate her. _I am not okay_ , a small voice inside her cried. She felt tears on her cheeks again, a slow trickle that she didn't attempt to stop as they worked their way through the same tear tracks that were still on her dirty face from the flood of tears that she'd cried earlier. She was anything but okay, and she was all alone. She was back at the beginning, except she was miles behind where she'd started the first time. It was _not_ going to be okay… at least, she couldn't see any way that it possibly could be.

Crying wasn't going to help, of course, but she couldn't stop. She'd thought she'd cried her tear ducts dry earlier, but she found that they had miraculously refilled. She slumped down in her seat, not caring that all her weight was pressing against her handcuffed wrists behind her. What did it matter, anyway? What could possibly hurt worse than this? Her physical pain was so far outweighed by her mental anguish that she barely registered the pinch of the metal on her wrists as she leaned her weight against them.

She got her answer to that question – What could possibly hurt worse than this? – only a few minutes later, however. She heard a noise and glanced up to see Kurt standing still, hanging his head sadly, Zapata and Reade on either side of him. Zapata had her hand on his arm and was looking at him questioningly. Jane watched as the faces of the two newcomers changed as he talked. He was obviously telling him what had happened in the past twenty-four hours. She could see the moment when he told them about his father and Taylor Shaw, because the two looked truly horrified. Zapata leaned in and hugged Kurt fiercely, while Reade stood by awkwardly, settling for clapping Kurt on the shoulder sympathetically once Zapata had finally let go. Their expressions turned to disbelief as Kurt began talking again. This part was clearly about her.

She wanted to look away, but found that she couldn't. What was the expression? Something about a train wreck… Watching Kurt carefully, which was easy because he was standing so that he faced her direction, she couldn't help but notice that of the three of them, his face was the only one that seemed to show no emotion. She could understand that. He was probably in shock, and probably still so angry that he couldn't properly even process his emotions. Sitting in the back seat of the SUV, watching her team – the people who _had been_ her team – grieve with Kurt… she felt her heart breaking all over again.

When she finally managed to tear her eyes away from the scene outside the car, it was only because she had squeezed them shut tightly, feeling previously unshed tears squeeze out as she did so. This whole thing was just so much worse than anything she'd ever imagined. She'd known that eventually he'd find out about some or all of the ways she'd lied, maybe about Oscar as well, and probably Mayfair.

But she couldn't have known that his father would die, or that his deathbed confession would be to killing Taylor Shaw. And of course, she couldn't have known that _she_ wasn't really Taylor Shaw, as strange as that sounded even in her own head. Of course, she _had_ pretended just a little bit that she remembered being Taylor… but that by itself shouldn't have been such a crime. At least, it wouldn't have been if she'd done it simply because she wanted to believe that she was Taylor, because _he'd_ wanted so desperately to believe it, and not that she'd done it because Oscar had told her that she had to. Kurt hadn't even found out about Oscar or Mayfair yet, and already it looked like the damage between the two of them was irreparable.

She'd been so focused on watching Kurt with Zapata and Reade, she'd forgotten for a minute how much pain she was in, herself. And now it was back, hitting her all over again, full force. Slumping back down into the seat, she tried to make herself disappear. Alas, while she could kick just about anyone's ass, disappearing was not a skill that she possessed.

It felt like she'd been sitting in the back of that SUV for an eternity, but she didn't bother to open her eyes to check the time. It didn't matter, after all. What was the difference how long she was there? At least for the time being she was sitting down, no one was pointing a gun at her or hurling accusations fast and furious… in short, her current surroundings were an improvement over that final conversation with Kurt.

Her eyes were still squeezed shut because she simply couldn't bring herself to open them again. And yet, she wished that she _could_ open her eyes, because with them closed, all she saw was Kurt as he had been in those last minutes in her safe house. Eerily calm, and then angry and betrayed, until finally he got up and walked towards her, his gun drawn, demanding that she put her hands on her head, the handcuffs clinking behind her… over and over she saw this repeating, over and over until she swore that she couldn't take it, until she felt that she would explode from the sheer force of the emotion that had built up inside her.

Tears continued to leak from her eyes, still squeezed tightly shut, her head shaking back and forth without her permission, and her face began to hurt from the muscles having been contracted so tightly for so long. She wished for some way out of this hell, but reminded herself with her next thought that it was all of her own doing. Well, maybe not all of it, but enough of it to make her complicit. Enough to make her feel that she didn't deserve anyone's mercy, much less their understanding. She wished for it, of course, but felt completely unworthy.

After what seemed like days, voices came closer to the vehicle. Voices that she knew. She tensed up, every muscle in her body now on alert, her eyes now closed even more tightly than they had been before – she hadn't thought that it was possible, but now saw that it was. The driver's side front door opened first, followed almost immediately by the front passenger door, and she heard movement as two people settle themselves in their seats. Neither of them spoke to her, but that didn't surprise her. She knew that the chances that Kurt was one of those two people were slim to none – he'd probably go out of his way never to be near her again, judging by his previous reaction.

 _Don't think like that,_ her inner voice insisted, trying to calm her. _He just needs time._

 _Time won't change anything,_ she thought miserably. _Time won't change what I did, it won't change any of it._

ZAPATA AND READE

If Jane had opened her eyes, she would have seen Zapata in the driver's seat and Reade beside her. She would have seen them turn and look at her in disbelief, but not with the same hard expression that had been on Weller's face. They didn't know her as well as he did, but in some ways now that worked in her favor. Whatever she had done – which was yet to be determined – she hadn't betrayed them in the same way that she had Weller.

Zapata looked at Jane with a mixture of emotions. There was sadness for what she had been told her friend had done and how badly she had hurt Weller. Yes, there was anger and outrage there as well, but mixed in with that was a healthy amount of disbelief – because at least some of this had to be a mistake! She _knew_ Jane after all, and she was a good person! And finally, there was outrage. They would find out the truth of what had happened. Jane may not have been Taylor after all, but Weller was the one who'd wanted her to be Taylor in the first place, whether he could admit it or not. Zapata knew Jane in a different way than Weller did, which meant that she had enough perspective on the situation to know that there was more to this than was immediately obvious.

Reade, on the other hand, was more skeptical. He'd been the last member of the team to be won over by Jane in the beginning, and he'd really thought that he was past all that. He'd come to really like Jane, even to admire her determination, but now… maybe he'd been too quick to accept her, even though the others had all been quicker. Maybe, just maybe, if he'd held onto his doubts for longer, they would have discovered something about her that would have prevented all of this. The way things stood now, he couldn't help but doubt himself.

Turning back around to face forward, Reade and Zapata glanced at each other. Zapata's face was pained, as she was obviously conflicted about what to think. Two of her friends were hurting badly, each at least in part because of the other. One of them might be a criminal, and the father of the other one had confessed to being a murderer. There was simply no way for her _not_ to feel conflicted. Reade's expression, on the other hand, was more like Weller's – becoming harder and more detached, with a hint of anger. He didn't know what to believe, but it seemed impossible that Jane could be completely innocent. She had been complicit to some degree, they simply didn't know yet just how much.

Without another word, Zapata turned around to face forward, putting the car into Drive and maneuvering away from the scene that now swarmed with FBI agents. Looking back briefly in the rearview mirror, she couldn't help but think, _Those techs are going to be busy for_ _ **hours,**_ _maybe even days._ After all, they were thorough in their work on every case, but on the case of an FBI consultant who may or may not have betrayed them? There would be no speck of dust in that house left unturned.

JANE

She felt the vehicle pull forward, out into what she imagined was the same light traffic in front of her safe house that she usually found at this time of day. _Stop calling it your safe house, you idiot_ , she told herself. _It's neither 'yours' nor is it 'safe' – at least for you – any longer._ But the safe house didn't matter to her. Not really. It was at the bottom of a very long list of the things she'd just lost, that she would probably never get back.

No, she expected that she'd rot away in a cell, forgotten, somewhere inside the windowless interior walls of the FBI building. After all, she imagined that she knew too much for them to send her to a regular jail, and the tattoos that covered every inch of her, despite having been scanned meticulously, would be too great a risk to let out of their custody into a prison population. After all, there was a reason she'd been living in a safe house. She resigned herself to a future that was basically no future. _Well, I have no past, either, so I guess it's fitting,_ she thought bitterly.

Every time the car stopped at a traffic light, Jane, who still hadn't opened her eyes, braced herself for the fact that this was it, time to be forced out of the car and into a room where she'd be harshly interrogated, maybe even tortured – they _said_ they didn't do that, but how did she really _know?_ It was coming, she knew it, and the further they drove, the closer it got. By the time they reached the FBI building and Jane heard the familiar _thud_ of the tires going over the entrance to the parking garage, she was ready to jump out of her skin. She kept her eyes closed for as long as she could, still hoping against hope that this would all just go away if she wished hard enough. She heard the front doors open and then close, and the voices conversing softly outside her door.

Then it was upon her, the moment she'd dreaded since the second the car had started moving. The door less than a foot away from her opened suddenly, and she felt the rush of air from the outside, the sounds of people and cars echoing in the open parking structure. "Jane," Zapata's voice wasn't harsh like Kurt's had been, but it wasn't quite her usually tone, either. "Jane, let's go." No, Zapata's voice was flatter than usual. Finally unable to put off the inevitable any longer, she slowly blinked her eyes open, finding that after having squeezed them shut for so long, the light stung them and caused her to squint. Also, she now had a pounding headache from the pressure she'd exerted on the muscles in her face to keep her eyes so tightly closed.

Groaning slightly, she awkwardly wiggled herself forward toward the open door, where Zapata and Reade stood only another foot or so away, watching her gravely. With her eyes, she begged their forgiveness, their understanding, but she said nothing in words. What could she say? The looks on their faces, while not as livid as Kurt's, said all that she needed to know for right now. She was no longer a trusted team member. Now she was once again a case, but it was worse this time. Now she couldn't claim ignorance. She had done bad things, and she knew it, as did they – or they would soon enough. She wondered fleetingly if they knew about Mayfair yet, wincing a little at the thought of their boss and her final words to Jane.

Bowing her head to look at the ground, she put her feet down onto the smooth pavement and stepped out slowly, trying to maintain her balance without the use of her arms, and not fall on her face. While it really wouldn't make her day any worse if she _did_ fall flat on the concrete, she just wasn't sure if anyone would help her up once she was down there, or just leave her to flail.

 _Don't be so dramatic_ , the voice in her head replied. But she couldn't help it. Come to think of it, she wished that she _could_ be lying face down somewhere, if for no other reason than she wouldn't have to look at anything or anyone. She wanted nothing more just then than to dissolve into nothingness.

Zapata and Reade each took hold of one of her arms. _They think I'm going to try to escape,_ she thought miserably. Granted, if she'd wanted to, she probably could have gotten herself out of their control without too much trouble. But what then? She was on FBI premises. What was she going to do, take down the whole New York office? And for what? Where exactly would she _go_? No, even though it should have been nothing at this point, the hold that Zapata and Reade had on her arms made her cringe simply because it hurt to think that that's what the two of them thought of her.

 _It's just protocol_ , she reminded herself. _They still have to follow protocol._ This thought didn't make her feel any better, however. In the end she gave in and decided it was for the best that the two agents held firmly to her arms, because that way she didn't have to look up at where she was going, and at the people around her as she passed by. She could feel the stares she received as she was undoubtedly being led to interrogation. Not that she wasn't used to being stared at, after all this time covered in tattoos, but this was different. She burned with shame, knowing that this time she deserved the stares.

She didn't look up until finally she, Zapata and Reade stopped outside a door labeled Interrogation 1. The irony wasn't lost on her that she'd been interrogated in this room before, after she'd been found in Times Square. She had a feeling that she was going to like this time even less than last time. Looking from one of them to the other nervously, she saw them glance first at her and then at each other without a word, before Reade opened the door and they let go of her arms. In front of her she saw the same shiny metal table and a few chairs, but little else.

"Go in and get comfortable," he told her, in a voice she remembered him using to talk to her when they'd first met, when he'd been convinced that she was trouble. "You're going to be there a while." Hanging her head and shuffling forward, she stifled a sob as the door closed loudly behind her almost the second she was past the threshold. Her hands still in handcuffs behind her back, she didn't even make it to the table, simply sank to the cold floor, curling herself into a ball and dissolving in tears.


	4. I'm Done With Her

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: Obviously, I don't know what the entrance into which FBI prisoners are taken looks like, or what their protocol is for escorting prisoners within the building. If you do, please don't feel like you have to correct me, unless of course it's really, really cool. Also, I only ever planned to focus on Jane and Kurt, but this chapter gives Zapata and Reade a little more attention as well. I didn't plan it that way, it just happened. :) But I love those two as well, so it's all good. After all, they're all a team. Or… at least they_ _ **were**_ _a team, before… never mind. Just keep reading! We'll get back there… eventually…_

KURT

The flashing lights blurred his vision but even though he couldn't quite see or think straight, he couldn't bring himself to stand still. He paced the scene, stomping in and out of the safe house, seeing the activity around him but not quite actively participating in it. It was all too much, especially that wall.

 _Fuck. Don't look at it_ , he told himself, but it was as though he couldn't help it. His eyes were drawn to it as if by some otherworldly force. The drawings, the photographs, the notes, all pinned up there and staring down at him, mocking him. Between this wall and the fact that he now knew that she'd lied about being Taylor, it was all the proof he needed.

And so he stood there and stared at it, desperately wanting to walk away, until he couldn't take it anymore and he was close to becoming physically ill, at which time he would use every ounce of strength inside him and force himself to turn and leave the room – that room where he'd snapped the handcuffs around Jane's wrists. He could still hear the clinking echoing in his head, along with the sounds of Jane, saying his name desperately… He shook his head, trying to stop the sound, but it only got louder.

 _Jane_. His mind spat the name as if it were laced with poison. _Or whoever the hell she is._

Each time, he'd force himself from the room and burst outside, desperately needing air, only to stomp around the scene, glaring at everything and everyone in the vicinity _except_ the SUV where she sat, where he'd forced her to sit, locked her in. He didn't look at the SUV at all, and yet still he could feel her eyes boring into him, that pleading, desperate look that she'd given him before he'd forced her to turn around and put her hands on her head.

No, she was nothing to him now, now that he knew the truth.

Except that he couldn't get her face out of his head, couldn't stop feeling her stare through the tinted glass of the vehicle, couldn't stop feeling like he had to get out of range of her… and so he would wander the scene, ending up back inside the safe house before long, and the whole cycle would begin again. He knew that his presence there wasn't healthy or productive – probably the opposite of both, actually – but he couldn't bring himself to leave, and no one dared to suggest it to him. The only one who would have sent him home who he _might_ have listened to was Mayfair, but she was nowhere to be seen, of course.

From time to time someone asked him a question and he answered them absently the best he could, but he could feel that his head was not 100% in the game. Hell, he'd by lying if he claimed that his head was _50%_ in the game. The truth of it was, the way he was feeling, he was pretty sure that he shouldn't be around people at all.

He kept looking for Mayfair to show up, but she didn't. It wasn't like her, especially not for something like this. He wished that she _was_ there, because he knew very well that at that moment he should _not_ be the agent in charge of this scene. As many times as he'd insisted that he was the right person to be lead agent on the Jane Doe case, despite all the evidence that said that he shouldn't have been – and really, he could now admit that he'd been wrong, he'd let his personal feelings about her cloud his judgement – he could easily see that he should _not_ be in charge here. And yet, he was.

It was a relief, therefore, when Zapata and Reade arrived. He didn't hear them approach, but suddenly they were standing on either side of him as he stood still for a rare moment, having only just stopped pacing for the first time and staring at the ground, breathing raggedly. He saw them exchange worried glances before either of them spoke, and knew them well enough to know what their looks meant – he just wasn't in a state to be able to do anything with this knowledge. Unsurprisingly, it was Zapata – ever the more direct one – that spoke first.

"Weller, what's going on?" Zapata asked in an uncharacteristically soft voice. It wasn't like Weller to get upset – not like this – ever. Almost no matter what the situation, he was calm and collected. The way he looked now… He knew without seeing himself that in all their years working together, she had never seen him like this. He could see the fear and worry mirrored in her eyes when he finally looked up at her. He knew that the only thing that could unsettle him, at least as far as work went, the only thing that could throw him off his game, was Jane – Reade had already pointed it out to him more than once.

Reade looked around, but Jane was nowhere to be seen. He looked like he wanted to ask Weller if she was involved somehow in whatever was going on, but decided to wait. Whatever it was, it was big.

Before Weller could register another thought, Zapata's hand was on his arm. He couldn't help but wonder how much they already knew, if they somehow had heard what had happened. After all, that gentle tone that Zapata had used to address him seemed wrong coming from her. No, the person most likely to use that tone with him was—

 ** _No_** , he told himself emphatically. _She doesn't get the dignity of my thoughts._ His head began to spin, and he knew that he had to get ahold of himself, _now._

Glancing up at them and seeing the questioning looks in their eyes, he realized that they didn't yet know what had happened after all. He knew that he needed to tell them as much as he could, in a way that would make sense – not the rambling mess that his thoughts were currently jumbled into, so he tried to mentally separate his feelings from the facts of the case. They didn't need the messy details, just the highlights. And so, trying to remember the important facts in chronological order, he took a deep breath.

"My father died last night," he began, and even without looking at either of them directly, he saw the dismay register on the faces of his colleagues. _If only it were_ _ **just**_ _that,_ he thought. He saw Zapata about to speak, but held up his hand. "No, wait, there's more. A _lot_ more." He couldn't help but think that his words sounded like a line from a cheesy game show, which almost made him smile. _I'm going insane,_ he thought, before forcing himself to focus on the task at hand. Pausing to gather his thoughts, he didn't want to speak the words out loud. Somehow, saying them made them more real. If he didn't say them, he could forget… They'd been offensive enough in his ears, and in his mouth when he'd had to tell Sarah. He never wanted to say them again…

But say them he must, at least one more time, so he forced himself to continue. "Before he died, he told me…" He didn't know if it was disgust or grief or anger than threatened to choke him then, or all of those things, or if it was something else altogether. "…My father told me that he…" His voice trailed off to a whisper, but he continued speaking a second later. "…he killed Taylor Shaw."

There was shocked silence on either side of them as Zapata and Reade processed this new information. Even for these seasoned FBI agents who had seen many, many horrifying things in their careers, this revelation was difficult to swallow. _Weller's_ _ **father**_ _?_ So Weller had been right all along! They knew that he had been investigated, but there had been no evidence, and he had always denied it… Even though they knew that Weller hadn't believed in his father's innocence, it was still shocking to them to have the confirmation of a confession after all this time.

Before Kurt knew what was happening, Zapata had stepped in front of him and was pulling him down so that she could hug him tightly. Weller accepted the embrace, his arms just barely moving to Zapata's back in an automatic response to the vice-like grip in which she held him, appreciating the hug for exactly what it was – his team member's show of support. Zapata was tough as nails, but the two of them had worked together for a long time, and he knew that she knew exactly how much of an impact the whole Taylor Shaw case had had on his life, even _before_ Jane had come into the picture.

When Zapata finally let go of Kurt, Reade patted him awkwardly on the shoulder, the guy's version of the hug that Zapata had just offered. Weller knew that these two always had his back, no matter what, and though it didn't change the facts, he was glad for the support. Still, he cringed inwardly, knowing that he hadn't even told them the worst of it yet.

Kurt saw the look on Zapata's face when her brain caught up with his last sentence. " _Wait_ , Weller, you said that your father killed Taylor Shaw. But then…" Her mouth stood open as she stopped, mid-sentence, looking at Reade, who had just reached the same conclusion almost simultaneously. The two appeared frozen for a second, realization hitting them hard.

Reade was the first to recover this time. "So then if she's _not_ Taylor, then who the hell is _Jane_?"

Weller looked back down at the ground, all of the muscles in his face tensing as he shook his head slowly. "I don't know," he growled. There was audible pain in his voice, despite his best efforts to keep himself calm, and he was suddenly afraid that he wouldn't be able to stop himself from breaking down then and there.

"Oh my _God_ , Weller, I…" Zapata started, but words seemed insufficient just then. She just shook her head in disbelief.

"So… where is she now? Did you confront her?" Reade asked reluctantly. He could see that Weller was overwhelmed, but they needed to establish what was going on.

Weller nodded toward the SUV not far away, the one he'd been avoided looking at so far, where he had locked Jane. "I arrested her."

"You what?" Zapata blurted out before she could stop herself.

"She lied about who she is," Kurt snapped quickly, suddenly on the defensive. "She said she _remembered_ being Taylor Shaw. But she's _not_ Taylor Shaw." He stopped and looked Zapata dead in the eyes. "I _found_ Taylor Shaw." His voice was beginning to crack, but he forced the words out anyway. There was no stopping now, after all.

"I found her buried under the goddamn campsite where my dad took us camping as kids – me, Taylor and Sarah. I found the fucking doll that she wouldn't sleep without. _My father_ …" he paused, closing his eyes and choking back the emotion that threatened to overwhelm him, "My father told me where to find her remains, and she was there." He sucked air in and out, almost wheezing from the effort, leaning over and bracing his hands against his knees. Feeling himself calm down, he stood back up and looked at them defiantly. "Jane said she was Taylor Shaw, but she _lied_. I don't know a goddamn thing about her that's real. So yes, I fucking arrested her." For a second, you could have heard a pin drop in the space between them.

"Shit," Reade breathed out, shaking his head. "Have you talked to Mayfair?"

Weller shook his head, pushing himself back up to a standing position. "I haven't heard from her. I haven't seen her." It was weird that she wasn't around, to be sure, but he hadn't given it too much thought. After all, he'd had a few other things on his mind.

Zapata and Reade exchange worried glances. "That's not like her," Zapata observed, scanning the crowd. It was a futile gesture, of course, because they knew that if their boss was there, she'd have been standing beside them already. Still, she did it anyway. "I'm going to make a call," Zapata told the men, and walked away, pulling out her phone as she went.

Reade turned to Kurt, not sure what he could possibly do or say that would help. He'd thought _he'd_ been in an impossible situation with Sarah the past few weeks – and it _had_ been hell to have to break up with her and push her away from him, having to break her heart just to keep her safe – but this was so much bigger. He simply couldn't imagine what Kurt was going through. He stood beside the lead agent as he seemed to seethe, wondering what the hell the right thing to do or say would be in this situation. He was simply at a loss.

Finally, feeling like it was a cop out, Reade said simply, "I'm sorry, man. I don't even know… I just can't imagine. I mean…" He sighed heavily and shook his head, hoping that Kurt could at least get the sentiment beside his disjointed words. Much like Weller, Reade just wasn't good with words the way Zapata was most of the time.

Kurt looked up at him and nodded glumly. "Yeah. Thanks, man."

Zapata returned then, holding her phone in her hand and looking perplexed. "She's not at the office. No one has heard from her in a few hours, when she said she was going out. It's just not like her. She never just disappears, and certainly not for this long. She's always right in the middle of things. Now she's not even answering her phone – it went straight to voicemail." It just didn't make sense.

"There must be something else going on that we don't know about yet," Reade observed, unable to know just how true this was.

Zapata still looked perplexed, but nodded. "Yeah, I guess," she agreed skeptically. Kurt had been standing between the two, only half listening. He kept seeing Jane's face in his head, and it was distracting him from thinking rationally.

 _Jane_. The woman he didn't really know after all, despite everything they'd been through. Her face loomed large before his eyes, with her tattoos – both the ones they'd already solved and the ones they hadn't – floating into his field of vision, overlapping each other and sometimes obscuring her face, sometime not, before floating away again. And then, even worse, he saw himself digging up Taylor's remains, saw himself confronting Jane… _handcuffing her_... twisting the handcuffs as he pushed her into the SUV… he only wished he knew how to _stop_ seeing all this before his eyes, but the images refused to abate.

He put a hand to his temple, rubbing it gently to try to massage away the headache that had already formed. The two agents standing on either side of him were looking at him again, he could feel it. He couldn't manage to bring himself to look at either of them just then, however, just continuing to stare blankly ahead, seeing only Jane. He was dismayed to realize that the hand that wasn't at his temple was balled tightly into a fist.

"Weller, you need to go home. We'll take Jane back to headquarters," Zapata told him. It wasn't a question. However, she wasn't Mayfair, the only one Kurt _might_ have taken that direction from. And besides that, Kurt wasn't leaving.

He looked up at her, his face pulled into a pained grimace. "I'm fine, Zapata." Pausing, he glanced at the SUV where Jane was locked inside. When he spoke again, his tone had changed completely, suddenly becoming harsher than she or Reade had ever heard it before. "But you can take _her_ back. Or have another agent do it. Either way. It can be anyone but me. I'm _done_ with her. Permanently."

Zapata and Reade exchanged quick glances, nodding. "It's okay, we got it," Reade assured him. "But if you're gonna refuse to go home, you need to at least go back to the office. There's no need to hang out here. And with all the new information we've gotten tonight…" Reade trailed off, considering that Weller was the _source_ of most of the new information – or at least a good bit of it – so he didn't really need to tell Weller how much work they had to do. Of course, Weller should probably be working on something else entirely, if he was even fit to work at all, though of course there was no chance he would go for that. No matter what Weller said, he was far too invested in Jane to just walk away. Reade and Zapata both knew it, even if Weller didn't.

To their surprise, Kurt nodded. "Yeah," he conceded. "Okay. Once we have a handle on things here, I'll catch a ride back to the office. You guys go. Get _her_ out of here." He spat the last sentence as if the very idea of her disgusted him. Really, at that moment it did. Even more than that, he was disgusted with _himself._ How the hell had he let himself be conned like this? It made him sick to even think about it… and so very angry. _Not now_ , Kurt told himself. He'd only just barely gotten ahold of himself, he couldn't afford to go back down that path just yet, and certainly not in public.

He fished his hand into his pocket and dug out the keys to the SUV, holding them in one finger by the metal ring, as if they were suddenly contaminated with something with which he didn't want to come into contact any more than absolutely necessary. He held the key ring out in their direction, waiting for one of them to take it. Zapata was faster, snatching it from Kurt's fingers before he could toss it on the ground, which, given the look on his face, seemed like a distinct possibility. She shoved the key ring into her own pocket, still trying to determine whether or not their lead agent really was okay, as he claimed he was.

ZAPATA AND READE

Looking at him as if she was uncertain whether or not she should believe him, Zapata gave Kurt a pained smile, nodding. "Okay, boss. We'll see you back there. And if you don't get back soon, I'm gonna come back and haul your ass outta here. Don't think I won't."

Kurt just nodded absently, turning to walk away without another word. It really was painful to watch him. _Like a lost, angry puppy_ , Zapata thought suddenly, shaking her head. The comparison might have been funny, if the whole thing hadn't been so completely fucked up.

Zapata and Reade stared after him. Zapata couldn't help but think about how much she hated to see Weller like this. After all, it was so completely unlike him. As long as she'd known him, their cases hadn't phased him. _Not ever_. Of course, there was the commonly known fact that Jane was something more than just an asset to Weller. That had been obvious to them almost from the beginning. Then they'd found out that Jane was Taylor – or, that they'd _thought_ that Jane was Taylor – and after that the only one of them to whom the "something" between Weller and Jane hadn't been obvious had been Weller himself. _For a brilliant agent, Weller really can be a dumbass_ , Zapata thought.

But that was irrelevant now, with everything that had just come to light. Zapata couldn't help but wonder how much more there was to this case that they had yet to uncover. Not just the tattoos that helped them solve individual cases within the Jane Doe case umbrella, but the mystery of Jane herself. Because now that she wasn't Taylor, they were back to square one. No, they were even farther back than that. Because Jane not being Taylor after all threw into question just about everything they'd learned thus far, and made it all seem a hundred times more sinister. And how the hell did the DNA test say that she was Taylor when she _wasn't actually Taylor_? Just how high up, and how broadly, did this all _go_ , anyway?

There simply had to be more to this, something that they didn't know. There was no way that Jane was just solely a traitor. She may have done bad things, but was it possible that she could have done bad things and _not_ be a bad person? As Zapata had learned in her years in law enforcement, it was seldom that simple. Few things in life _were_ , after all. People did things with all kinds of different reasons, and many times for more than one reason.

Zapata suddenly recalled a conversation she'd had with Jane not long ago. A chill ran down her spine as she heard her own words, spoken to Jane, echo in her head. Jane had asked her something like _Was it possible for a good person to do something terrible?_ And what had she told her in response? She couldn't remember her exact words, but she remembered the sentiment, and the conviction with which she'd uttered the words, with chilling accuracy. It had been something like _Terrible people do terrible things. And the good people stop them._

 _Do I really believe that?_ she asked herself. _Because what if Jane did something terrible? Is she automatically a terrible person? Was_ _ **that**_ _why she had asked me that?_ she wondered. Zapata struggled to come to grips with the two warring ideas. She liked Jane a lot, sympathized with her, and respected her judgement. She'd saved their asses more than once. She was part of the team. Not only that, but they were _friends_. From all indications, Jane was a good person. She hadn't understood why Jane had asked her that before, but now…

It couldn't _all_ be a lie, surely…

When she looked up, Reade was watching her carefully. "You're quiet," he told her bluntly. "You're never quiet. So… What do you think?"

She just shrugged, shaking her head and letting out a heavy sigh. "About which part?" she asked tiredly.

"Any of it," Reade replied, eyeing her suspiciously. Zapata wasn't acting like her usual self.

"I… I really don't know what to think," Zapata replied slowly. "We know her, or, we _thought_ we knew her… I just don't know." There was nothing else to say, because that was the honest truth. At that moment, she didn't know what to say about _any_ of it.

"No, _I_ knew better from the beginning," Reade said bitterly. "Even after you guys trusted her, I knew there was something off…" His expression suddenly became angry. "I never should have listened. Weller's instincts are usually right on, but with her… he never _could_ see straight around her, even before he'd decided she was Taylor."

Bitterness dripped from Reade's words, which Zapata noticed in surprise. She'd thought that he'd gotten past those feelings long ago. Jane and Reade had seemed to have developed a good working relationship. He'd seemed to respect her. _He feels betrayed by her_ , Zapata realized. _Just like Weller._ She wasn't sure how _she_ felt about Jane. Not yet. Right now all she could feel was shock.

"Come on, let's just get back," she told him, glancing at the SUV that contained the woman who had brought so much chaos to their lives, ever since the first day they'd met her. "It's going to be a long time before this is all sorted out."

"Yeah," Reade agreed, "and she has a _lot_ of explaining to do."

Something in Reade's tone made Zapata hope that he wasn't going to be the one to interrogate her. Really, she supposed that it shouldn't be any of them, since they were all probably too close to the situation to be objective. They shouldn't have to – shouldn't be _allowed_ to – interrogate someone they'd considered a friend. There were times where regulations like that, about personal connections and biases, seemed silly, but in this case it made complete sense.

The two agents walked slowly toward the SUV, Zapata heading for the driver's seat. They climbed in without a word, pausing to turn and look over their shoulders at Jane, slumped in the back seat, her hands handcuffed behind her back and her eyes squeezed shut. She appeared to be in pain. Despite everything, Zapata couldn't help but feel badly for her friend. But she could do absolutely nothing for her. It was all out of her control now.

They drove back to headquarters in silence, each of them lost in their own thoughts. In the garage, they pulled up to the same entrance that was used to unload prisoners. Reade climbed out of the car slowly, and found Zapata already standing there, staring at the same door that they'd walked so many criminals through, into which Jane would now walk. There was a faraway look in Zapata's eyes, and Reade could tell that she was lost in thought. _Am I the only one who's not completely shocked by this?_ he wondered. He was pissed off, disappointed and outraged – but _shocked?_ No, sadly he just felt responsible for the mess in which they now found themselves.

"You ready, Z?" he asked her hesitantly. He knew Zapata well enough to know that she was having some major misgivings about all this, probably thinking that there was no way that what they'd been told about Jane could be true. Reade knew that the two of them, plus Patterson, had spent some quality girl time together. They had become _friends._ Besides that, Zapata was an interesting combination of tough girl and sensitive, one that generally helped her be both no nonsense and yet very intuitive, which made her a solid agent. In this case, however, the two sides of her personality were at war with each other.

She slowly shook herself out of her reverie, turning to face him. If he didn't know better, he'd say she looked sad. But how could she be sad about this? Pissed off he would understand, but not sad.

"Yeah," she said, in that voice she used when she was pretending that everything was fine but she was obviously lying. He almost never called her on it. They were all going to be dealing with this shit differently, he knew. He couldn't begrudge her her feelings, even if they were radically different from his own. They were different in so many ways, but in so many others, they were the same, and their job now was the same as well – to get to the bottom of this mess.

Zapata pulled the car door open abruptly, forcing herself to look down at Jane, who looked even more pathetic now. Her eyes were still squeezed tight, and she was shaking slightly. Zapata felt a squeeze around her heart, but there was nothing she could do about it. "Jane," she said, trying to force her voice out evenly, but knowing that it came out flat, "Jane, let's go." They watched Jane slowly open her eyes, squinting up at them.

 _Damn,_ Reade thought, _she looks like_ _ **hell**_. Not that it should've been that much of a surprise, all things considered.

They waited, stone faced, as Jane tried to extract herself from the SUV without the use of her hands. Zapata wondered if she should try to help her out, not really wanting to see her friend fall flat on her face, but a glance at Reade and his unreadable expression reminded her that she needed to remain professional, no matter how difficult it was. Something in Jane's eyes was pleading with them… Zapata couldn't remember ever seeing her look so pathetic. Still, despite the fact that she wanted to, the agent said nothing, and did her best not to let her face betray her thoughts.

When Jane finally managed to climb out of the SUV and balance herself, Zapata and Reade immediately stepped forward and each took one of her arms firmly in their hands. It wasn't that they thought she was going to try to escape, because, having seen Jane in action, they both knew that if Jane decided to try, they wouldn't stand a chance of stopping her. It was more that they needed to follow protocol explicitly, specifically because it was Jane. They couldn't let anyone say later that they'd neglected to follow the rules because of the nature of their relationships – friendship, team member, whatever it might be.

Zapata noticed that once they took her arms, closing the car door behind her and entering the building, Jane didn't look up again. She was also aware of just how many people they passed were staring at them. Heads peeked out of doorways, conversations stopped mid-sentence, and a hush followed them as they escorted Jane back to where it had all begun.

Reade wasn't sure why he remembered it, but he couldn't help but notice that Jane was being put in Interrogation Room 1, just as she had been when they'd first found her. Even _he_ found this a little cruel. _They couldn't have used one of the other rooms?_ he wondered. It just seemed wrong to him. He saw Zapata cringe out of the corner of her eye as they approached the door, and he wondered if she'd noticed the coincidence as well.

Jane looked up at them then, when they stopped inches in front of the door, glancing first at Reade and then at Zapata. She looked nervously from them back to the door, which Reade opened. They let their hands drop from her arms, and Zapata felt a sinking feeling in her stomach, almost as if _she_ was being locked inside.

"Go in and get comfortable," Reade told Jane, in the detached and slightly aggressive voice that Zapata hadn't heard him use with her in a very long time. "You're going to be there a while," he added. They watched Jane shuffle slowly into the room, and heard the muffled sob escape from her as Reade slammed the door, more loudly than was necessary.

Zapata stared through the window set inside the door, fighting back tears of her own. Reade watched her critically, knowing that his partner was conflicted. "You can't feel bad for her," he told her in a voice slightly harsher than he'd intended. "She did this. She brought it on herself."

Shaking her head but not taking her eyes off of Jane, who was now in a heap on the floor, her body shaking with sobs that they couldn't hear through the door, Zapata bit her lip. "I don't believe that," she told him. "Whatever she did, I don't believe that she did it _all_ on purpose."

Reade snorted, throwing up his hands. He didn't have the patience for this at that moment. "Alright, well, I suppose we'll find out soon enough," he said as he turned and walked away. "I'm gonna see if I can find Mayfair." Before she could answer, he had disappeared around the corner.

Zapata almost didn't notice his absence. She was too focused on the woman sobbing on the floor only feet away from her, just past the door. "Dammit, Jane," Zapata whispered. "What the hell did you do?" Unable to stand there and watch any longer, she turned quickly and followed Reade's retreating footsteps back towards Mayfair's office and Patterson's lab.

On the other side of the door, Jane remained on the cold floor long after no one was there to watch her break down.


	5. This Isn't Happening

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

PATTERSON

Patterson hadn't heard from anyone on the team in over an hour, and it was making her extremely anxious. _Where is everyone?_ she wondered. Mayfair had ducked out earlier and no one had heard from her since, she hadn't seen Weller at all today, and then Reade and Zapata had been called to the scene of some kind of _disturbance_ … they'd run out so fast, they hadn't even given her a clue where they were going. None of them had checked in recently, and no one who actually _was_ around seemed to be able to tell her what was going on. It wasn't like her team to just disappear without a trace, but that was what it felt like had happened. Where _was_ everyone, anyway?

And then suddenly, just a few minutes ago, the whispers had started from the hallway just outside the door of her lab. She usually paid no attention to them. The junior agents – and even some of the not-so-junior agents – loved to talk, but it seldom amounted to the real story. Today, however, they were much louder and more excited than usual, which made her wonder… and that, combined with her desperate curiosity about her team, had her on edge. She just had a feeling that it wasn't a coincidence, that the two were somehow related.

She knew that had any one member of her team been there, they would have told her that she was jumping to conclusions. For a scientist, she knew that she tended to rely more heavily on intuition than most of her contemporaries – but the thing was, her intuition was rarely wrong. A feeling of dread settled over her and she made up her mind that just this once, she'd investigate what the fuss in the hallway was about. Walking slowly toward the door of her lab, she started listening to the whispered chatter from people passing by her door. She was dismayed to realize that she'd heard a familiar name.

 _Jane Doe._

But what _about_ her? They were talking louder and louder in the hall now, loud enough that she could make out more than just Jane's name. What she heard… There were some absolutely insane things being said, and she knew that she must be hearing it wrong. She had to be, because it couldn't _possibly_ be true.

They were saying that Weller had _arrested_ her. That just showed how absolutely wrong the young agents always got things. Still, she was dying to know the truth, and to know that her team was alright. They were her family, after all. They'd been through so much together. She'd always felt a camaraderie with them, but since David's death, she'd needed their support more than ever. She cared deeply about each and every one of them. As much as she loved her lab and the work she got to do there, the one thing she disliked about her job was that her whole team was sent into danger day after day, and she was left to worry them until they made it back safely. Today was no exception.

 _Check in, already, you guys!_ she thought furiously, convinced that if she thought hard enough, she could make it happen. She inched closer and closer to the door, the feeling of dread growing stronger the closer she got.

PATTERSON AND READE

Peeking her head out into the hallway, she felt the unusual buzz in the air increasing. Something was definitely going on. That was when she saw Reade, an angry look on his face, walking quickly toward her. She sighed with relief, knowing that _finally_ she'd find out what was going on. He stopped beside her, but didn't make eye contact. His attention was trained towards the far end of the hall, and without giving her time to speak, he asked, "Have you seen Mayfair?"

"Oh, um, no, not since first thing this morning," Patterson replied in surprise. She could tell just from Reade's demeanor that something was wrong. "Reade… is everything okay? What's going on?" she whispered. "All I've heard is this crazy rumor…"

Reade scoffed, rolling his eyes and looking toward the ceiling. She couldn't remember seeing him react this way to anyone in a very, very long time. It wasn't like him to be so flustered. Finally, sensing that she was still waiting for an answer, he sighed heavily, trying to think of how to condense what was going on into as few words as possible. He just didn't have the patience to deal with someone was would undoubtedly react even more emotionally than Zapata.

Still, bitterness against Jane had built up inside him to the point that he simply couldn't hold it back. So instead of biting back the anger he was feeling, as he knew that he should, and giving her a simply factual answer, he replied tersely, "Jane is a traitor. Weller arrested her, and she's in Interrogation."

Looking down at Patterson for the first time, he felt a twinge of guilt when he saw Patterson's face constrict in shock and dismay, her hand flying to her mouth and her eyes watering slightly. He regretted having to be the one to have told her, and wished that he could have thought of a more sensitive way to do it. Patterson was like a sister to him – an emotional little sister. But it was done, and he was too angry with Jane, and with himself, to be able to stand there with Patterson while she broke down.

"I have to find Mayfair," he said, pushing past her down the hallway, leaving a distraught Patterson in his wake.

Patterson fell back against the wall, feeling like the ground below her was suddenly shifting. She was having trouble breathing properly, and she just stood there, looking around helplessly, hoping that someone would come along and explain to her what in the world was going on. What Reade had said didn't make any sense.

 _Jane? A traitor? It was_ _ **impossible**_ _._ They knew Jane. She was part of their team. They'd worked together for months. She'd saved their lives, especially Weller's, but the others' as well, again and again. What had she been accused of? And _why hadn't they stood behind her_?

 _That isn't Jane,_ Patterson thought furiously. _I don't care what_ _ **anyone**_ _says, that isn't Jane. She is_ _ **not**_ _a traitor_.

She focused simply on breathing in and out, in and out, as the pounding of her heart in her ears made taking in any other sounds around her impossible. This was _not_ happening.

PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

She was still bracing herself against the wall, her mind spinning a million miles an hour, a few minutes later when Zapata came around the corner. Patterson pulled herself up as quickly as she could and jogged towards her, meeting Zapata halfway between the corner and the door of her lab.

The first thing Zapata noticed when she saw Patterson was that her eyes were wild and she was out of breath.

"Zapata, what's going on?" Patterson asked. "Reade told me… he said that Jane…" she paused, trying to catch her breath. Her anxiety level was making it difficult. Zapata wondered for a second if the blonde was having a panic attack. "I don't understand," Patterson continued, clearly getting herself even more worked up. "It has to be a mistake. It _has_ to be…"

Zapata took a deep breath, putting a hand on Patterson's shoulder and turning her around so that the two of them could walk back towards her lab. "You should sit down for this one," she told her friend. "It's _bad_."

Patterson looked at her in confusion, her eyes begging Zapata to explain what was going on. Zapata walked her to the stools by the counter in the lab and waited until Patterson was seated before saying another word.

"I know this is going to sound insane, but Weller said," Zapata paused, biting her lip before continuing. She took a deep breath and began again. "Weller said that just before his father died last night, he admitted to him that he'd _killed_ Taylor Shaw." Zapata stopped there, letting the first piece of information sink into Patterson's brain. She knew that it was a lot to take in, having been equally shocked when Weller had told her not too long before.

"But… the DNA test said…" Patterson stammered. She was a scientist after all, and she couldn't understand how her test could have been wrong. Jane had been a _match_ for Taylor's DNA. The only way that could have come back positive if she _wasn't_ Taylor was if someone had… Her hand went to her mouth in shock for the second time in a matter of minutes as she realized what it all meant.

"Someone switched the sample," Patterson whispered. "It's the only explanation. But _who?_ And why? And _how_?" Patterson's mind was moving a million miles a second. She looked back up at Zapata suddenly. "And we're _sure_ that it's true? As weird as it seems that Weller's dad would say that if it wasn't true, how can we be _sure?_ "

Zapata nodded slowly. "I know, I know, but it looks like it's true. We'll have to do tests, of course, but Weller said that his father told him where he'd buried Taylor – a campsite where they used to go camping when they were kids – and Weller went there to see for himself, and he… he found her. He found Taylor's remains, and her doll… buried just where his father had said they would be."

Patterson stared silently in space for a minute, thinking hard. "But just because…" she started, slowly accepting the evidence of Taylor Shaw's death, but still unwilling to accept the fact that this made Jane a criminal. "When Jane came to us, she remembered nothing. _Weller_ was the one who was sure she was Taylor. He was the one who _wanted_ her to be Taylor. _She_ didn't say she was Taylor. _We_ told _her_ she was Taylor." Patterson paused, and when she spoke again her voice was barely a whisper. " _ **I**_ told her that she was Taylor…"

A look of horror spread across Patterson's face as she processed the fact that she had in fact been the one who had made the announcement – which they now knew had been false – that Jane was Taylor Shaw. "Oh my God, oh my God…" Patterson whispered, appearing to lose what little composure that she had left.

"Patterson! _Look at me_!" Zapata said sharply, snapping her friend back to reality. " _You_ are not responsible for this. Whoever did this, it was _not_ you. All you did was conduct routine tests, the same way you always do. This was _not_ you…" Patterson had a far away look in her eyes, and Zapata could see that she was just barely holding on.

"But I… I… Oh my God…" Patterson whispered, tears beginning to spill from the corners of her eyes despite her best effort to the contrary.

"Hey," Zapata said, putting her hand on Patterson's arm. " _Hey!_ No matter what happened, they need us right now. Weller needs us, and so does Jane. And _if_ she didn't do it, then she needs us even more than ever. Reade doesn't believe her, he's sure she's a traitor. And Weller… he can't think straight right now, which is pretty understandable, all things considered. It's up to _us_. They _need_ us." Zapata paused, letting her words sink in. "Patterson, if anyone can figure this out, it's you. But I need you to hold it together… stay with me, okay?"

Patterson nodded quickly, wiping the tears off of her face and trying to get ahold of herself. Zapata was right. They needed her. And she _knew_ that she could figure this out. After all, it was what she was good at. She had worked on harder cases in the past. This one seemed to be a bigger conspiracy and it was definitely more personal, but there had to be a way to figure it all out. Suddenly, something occurred to her. It seemed so simple. Why hadn't she thought of it before?

"But that's why she didn't remember… because it _wasn't her_." She looked up at Zapata hopefully, silently begging her friend to tell her that she'd found the loophole that would prove that Jane wasn't guilty.

"I know, and that would make sense," Zapata replied slowly, "After all, she insisted that she didn't remember anything about being Taylor for a long time. But then, remember, she _did_ saythat she remembered tiny little things about being Taylor." She looked at Patterson sadly. "Why would she say that she remembered being Taylor, if she was never Taylor?"

"I… but… maybe someone implanted memories in her!" Patterson sputtered. "There has to be some other explanation! After everything we've been through together, how can we just… _give up_ on her? Don't we owe it to her to _believe her?_ Don't we owe her more than that? How many times did she save Weller's life? And yours and Reade's?" She could feel herself getting upset now. How could Zapata accept all this so willingly?

But Zapata was just shaking her head sadly at her. Jumping off her stool, Patterson looked at Zapata, her eyes blazing. She shook her head in disbelief. "This isn't happening," Patterson asserted defiantly. "This _can't_ be happening. I know Jane – _we_ know Jane – and she would _not_ do this. I don't care what Weller said. He's _wrong._ "

Zapata stepped towards her with the intention of trying to reach out for her, hoping to try to calm her down, but Patterson just backed away from her. "I don't know how you can accept this," she continued angrily, "but I can't. I _won't_."

With that, Patterson left the lab, walking quickly and not looking back.

ZAPATA

Zapata sighed heavily, hating everything about this situation. She could understand how Patterson felt, she just wished that she could be so absolutely sure of Jane's innocence. Whoever she chose to believe – Weller, who seemed to have the facts on his side – or her intuition about Jane, she felt like she was betraying one of her best friends, people who she would do just about anything for. Both of them couldn't be right… _could they_? How in the world were they going to make sense of this?

Walking back toward the hallway, she wondered if Reade had found Mayfair. They _really_ needed her just then. Surely _she'd_ be able to help them make sense out of what was going on… She started down the hall toward her boss' office, more conflicted now than ever, wondering fleetingly where Patterson had run off to.

PATTERSON

Zapata had told her that Jane was in Interrogation, and without a second thought, Patterson started down the hall in that direction. She didn't even see the stares of the agents that she passed in the hall, those who knew that Jane was part of her team and wondered what Patterson was up to. For her part, Patterson didn't really know what she was going to do when she got there, only that she had to see this for herself. She couldn't believe that they had really put Jane into an interrogation room, like a common criminal. The way they had the night she'd been found in Times Square when they'd known nothing about her.

Back then, it had made sense to be suspicious of her. Patterson could concede that. But now? No matter what they'd just learned, they hadn't just _met_ Jane. Did they _really_ think she could have been lying to them about it all, all this time? Patterson knew that she could be naïve at times, but she simply couldn't accept that the Jane she knew didn't exist.

As Patterson approached the door of the only interrogation room where the lights were on, her pace slowed almost to a stop. She crept forward the last few feet reluctantly, cringing and biting her lip, not wanting to see Jane in there, but needing to at the same time. Finally, she reached the window that looked into the room and for a second, she thought the room was empty – that there'd been a mistake, and that Jane wasn't there after all.

Glancing around the small, bright room, however, Patters realized that Jane _was_ there. But instead of sitting in the chair beside the metal table, she was huddled against the wall, her knees to her chest, her arms hugging her knees and her head down – presumably to block out the world. She felt the familiar sting behind her eyes as she stood and watched her friend, who sat perfectly still on the cold floor.

 _She must feel so betrayed_ , Patterson thought. _And completely alone_. Her heart broke for her friend, and she had the urge to charge into the room and hug her, though she knew that it was not allowed. The knowledge that she couldn't do a thing to comfort Jane made standing there a thousand times worse.

PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

Patterson didn't even realize that anyone else was there with her, or that tears had been rolling down her cheeks long enough for her face to be more than a little damp, when suddenly she was conscious of the fact that Zapata was beside her again.

"Patterson, I need you to come with me." There was something in Zapata's tone that hadn't been there before, something ominous. Patterson glanced back at her, wondering what _else_ she was going to tell her. As far as she was concerned, things were about as bad as they could get. Couldn't she just give her a few minutes to take all this in?

"We found Mayfair. Well, _we_ didn't, but someone did," Zapata told her carefully.

Patterson turned and looked at her in confusion. _What in the world is she talking about?_ she wondered. Her thoughts were so jumbled, she couldn't bring herself to form words, so she just continued to stare at Zapata, hoping that what she was saying would start to make sense.

Zapata pursed her lips, looking down at the ground and then back up at Patterson. When she spoke, she didn't sound like herself. "I don't know what happened, but…" Zapata stopped, still not believing the words that were about to come out of her own mouth could be true.

"Mayfair's dead."


	6. Blood and Vomit

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: This chapter happens a little bit out of order, so I hope it still makes sense. :)_

KURT

There was a loud, shrill ringing noise near his head. He waited for it to stop, but it just seemed to keep getting louder and more insistent the longer it rang. After what felt like eternity, it finally stopped. For about twenty seconds, he heard nothing but blissful silence, and then suddenly the ringing began all over again. He swore that it was louder now than it had been before.

Mumbling curses under his breath, he struggled to sit up, only to be hit by a wave of nausea and the feeling that his head was splitting open. He tried to open his eyes, but when he squinted just a little bit, the bright light was simply too much for his aching head, and he shut them again. Burying his head in the pillows he'd woke up laying on, he focused on nothing but blocking out input from as many of his senses as possible. Absolutely every part of him felt like it was either on fire, had been run over by a truck, or was splitting open. Groaning loudly, he willed himself to stop hearing the ringing and to fall back to sleep. It took a while, but finally, mercifully, the ringing stopped and he fell back into a dreamless sleep.

…

He'd had the best of intentions, all things considered. No one could blame Kurt for making bad decisions after everything that had happened to him in the past twenty-four hours. Not that he wasn't responsible for his actions, but given what he'd been through, he couldn't exactly have been expected to react _well_. He'd dealt with the death of his father – which was really the least of his problems, relatively speaking – along with his father's deathbed confession that, as Kurt had maintained for nearly twenty-five years, his own father had indeed killed Kurt's childhood best friend, Taylor Shaw. That would have been far more than enough, of course, except that this confession brought along with it a shocking revelation – that one of the people he had trusted most simply couldn't be who he'd thought she was.

No, Jane wasn't Taylor after all. Never mind that the FBI had been the ones to tell her that she _was_ Taylor in the first place, that _he_ , Kurt Weller, had been the very first one to _insist_ that she was Taylor, refusing to accept any evidence to the contrary… he had conveniently forgotten that part of the timeline. Eventually, Jane _had_ claimed to be Taylor – even though her only claim was tied to short flashes of memories that she supposedly had… but they were real memories, _his_ memories. Memories that someone who hadn't been there couldn't have had… unless someone else had fed her the information. And that changed everything, of course. If she'd lied about that, then what else had she lied about? Had it _ALL_ been a lie? What was her agenda? The questions were dizzying in their implications, and more he brooded about the whole thing, the more questions he had.

Kurt Weller had never been someone who trusted people easily. No, that was something of an understatement. He didn't trust _anyone_ , not if he could help it. He could count the number of people he trusted on one hand. His sister, Sarah (and his nephew, Sawyer – at least, as much as you could trust a kid, of course), and then his coworkers: Reade, Zapata and Mayfair. It had taken years for him to be able to really trust the three of them, but they had proven their loyalty again and again, literally saving each other's lives more than once.

And yet, the great skeptical Kurt Weller had trusted Jane almost from the beginning. No, that wasn't quite right. He had _wanted_ to trust her from the beginning. There was something about her… She _had_ earned his trust, even if she had done it more _far_ easily than the other members of his team. The connection they both felt to the other had definitely given her an advantage. What was between the two of them – what _had been_ between them – it was like nothing he had ever experienced. Somehow, it had been there from the beginning, from the first time they'd seen each other in the interrogation room and she'd reached out to him, desperate for answers.

And now he knew the truth… that it had all be a lie. It wasn't bad enough that his father had _killed_ Taylor, but somehow, this mystery woman was somehow involved in a kind of strange conspiracy that had her claiming to be Taylor. It was simply more than he could deal with at once.

He'd promised Zapata that he'd be along shortly and meet them at headquarters, that he wouldn't hang around at the scene where techs were now swarming Jane's former safe house. He'd followed through with half of that, and had left the scene soon after Zapata and Reade had left with Jane. However, he had _not_ headed back to the office, instead driving around aimlessly for a while before he realized that really, he wasn't in any shape to be driving. His attention was certainly not focused on the road or anything around him, so he had pulled over and parked in front of the next bar he'd seen, figuring that after the day he'd had, it was understandable that he needed a drink or two. Hell, maybe more than two.

Kurt had always had a pretty high tolerance for alcohol, but in his state of mind that night, he wasn't exactly trying to pace himself. Nor was he keeping track of how many drinks he'd had, or even how much money he'd spent. He'd handed the bartender his credit card and hadn't given it another thought after that. It wasn't smart, but then again, he didn't feel any need to be making smart decisions. He had been a serious guy all his life: focused, hard-working, responsible… the kind of guy that people respected, looked up to, and trusted. The kind of guy that made smart decisions. And where had it gotten him? Here, to this bar, everything in his life that he'd ever believed having been ripped to shreds and set on fire.

He didn't know what time he'd arrived at the bar, how many hours he'd been there, or how many drinks he'd had. Not only that, he hadn't seen any of the dubious looks from the bartender as he asked for another drink, and another, and another. To his credit, the young bartender had tried to engage Kurt in conversation as a means to slow down his alcohol consumption, but the last thing that Kurt had wanted to do was to talk about what was wrong. Talking wasn't going to change anything, wasn't going to make it any better. He had been betrayed, not once but _twice_ , and not by strangers, but by people who he should have been able to trust. Talking wouldn't help anything this time. Despite his extensive resources and problem solving skills, Kurt just couldn't see a way to fix this situation.

So he ignored the bartender's attempts at small talk, downing his alcohol as quickly as possible, waiting for the things he was feeling to just… stop. What he really, really wanted, what he desperately _needed_ , was to stop feeling. Preferably to stop feeling completely. He _knew_ that it wasn't a healthy solution, and yet, for once he didn't care about doing the right thing, the responsible thing, the logical thing. For once he just didn't care about the consequences of his actions, not even a little bit.

When it was time for the last patrons to leave so the he could close up, the bartender had looked at Kurt suspiciously, wondering if there would be trouble. Kurt hadn't given him a hard time so far, nothing worse than grunting at the bartender's numerous attempts at conversation, but he had that look about him… like a guy who didn't have much, if anything, left to lose. Kurt still had plenty to lose, of course, like his _job,_ for one thing, but not surprisingly, he didn't see it that way. As far as he could see, it was all so far past fucked up, there might not be any going back.

So, unsurprisingly, Kurt had had no interest in leaving the bar. He'd _tried_ to get in the bartender's face, and then also the face of the security guy who'd been watching him all evening… _tried_ being the operative word. Really, he was too drunk to stand up straight, much less to be coordinated enough to get near anyone's face. But he had settled for waving his finger in the air wildly in their general direction as he shouted obscenities about the indignity to which he was being subjected at that moment… all this as the very large security guy had escorted him out to the sidewalk in front of the building, slamming the door behind him.

Kurt knew that he was more intoxicated than he'd been in many years. Now that he was standing up, he was having trouble remaining upright, as the world seemed to be tipping wildly without warning every few seconds. He put out a hand and caught himself on the brick wall of the building, managing to stop himself from stumbling face first into the cement.

 _Zapata would love that,_ he thought dizzily, _the boss falling on his face drunk. Fuck that. I'm not gonna fall down. I can walk in a goddamn straight line._ He stood up straight, taking his hand off of the wall in order to demonstrate to himself exactly how easily he could walk in a straight line, and of course, promptly fell down face first onto the cement. His reflexes were so slow, he didn't even have time to try to catch himself, which made it all the more painful when his body hit the pavement – especially his face.

Laying there on the ground, pounding the cement with his fists and screaming obscenities – he hadn't really _stopped_ yelling them since he'd been ejected from the bar – he was suddenly hit by a wave of nausea. _Ugh! I can't fucking throw up_ _ **here**_ _!_ he protested to himself. _My face is an inch from the ground._

His stomach, however, seemed not to get the message, because that's exactly what he did about five seconds later, heaving out putrid smelling vomit that, since he was already on the ground, really didn't have anywhere to go besides right beside his head, where is exactly where it landed. When he was finally still, it was all he could smell, and he was dismayed to realize that the side of his face was sitting in a puddle of it.

Also, as if that wasn't bad enough, he noticed for the first time that the pavement beside his face was also stained with blood. It was only then that he felt the pain in his face, realizing that he'd probably broken his nose when he'd fallen on the ground. Groaning and cursing some more, he pushed himself away from the smell of his own blood and vomit, rolling over on his side so that the reeking puddle he'd created was behind him. _This is a new fucking low for you, Weller,_ he told himself.

He began to laugh then, because here he was, on the sidewalk, drunk as shit and literally covered in his own vomit with a possibly broken nose, everything in his life about as fucked up as it could be… what else was there to do but laugh? He knew that he needed to get up off of the fucking sidewalk, but he couldn't seem to manage it. _I'll just rest here for a second_ , he thought, the words slurring together even in his head.

An hour later he woke up to the blaring sound of a horn. When he opened his eyes just a crack, he felt nearly as drunk as he had an hour before. Still, he was pretty sure that he wasn't hallucinating, and that there really was a car – a taxi? – pulled up along the curb, the driver holding down his horn. When Kurt raised his head to look in the direction of the noise, it finally stopped. A few seconds later, he heard a door slam and he could just barely make out, through his squinted eyes, the shape of the driver walking towards him. He really hoped that this guy wasn't looking for trouble. He was _not_ in the mood for it.

"Hey man, are you alright?" the guy asked him. He was standing in front of him now, his eyes wide in surprise. "You look pretty fucked up."

Groaning, Kurt used all his energy to push himself to a sitting position, feeling himself sway but managing not to fall back down. "I'm… fine," he replied unconvincingly, trying to get the words out while fighting another round of nausea. He rubbed his eyes, thousands of bright pinpricks of light appearing in his field of vision as he did so, then stopped and opened his eyes again, only to find everything shifting just as badly as it had been before.

"Um, no offense, but you look like _shit_. And I'm just guessing here, but do you need a ride?"

Kurt considered the offer for a few seconds, which was longer than he should have had to think about it, considering his current state of mind. There was no way in _hell_ he was driving in his condition, and unless he wanted to spend what was left of the night on the sidewalk, then yes, he needed a ride. His eyes had fallen closed again to keep out the light that was already hurting his head, and he just nodded in the direction of where he thought the cab driver was standing. When he forced his eyes open again, he saw that he'd been wrong, but the guy had gotten the message anyway.

"OK, but you're gonna have to get up on your own. There's no way I'm gonna be able to lift you up." Weller studied the driver, who was approximately a foot shorter than him and maybe a little more than about half of his weight, then nodded.

"Also, if you could _not_ throw up in my cab, that would be awesome," the driver added.

Kurt gave the man a wavering _thumbs up_ and then, putting his hands down on the ground on either side of him, attempted to push himself up. However, this was easier said than done in his current state. It took five minutes and numerous additional attempts before Kurt made it back onto his feet. The driver eyed him nervously, taking slow steps toward him and waiting to see if Kurt was, indeed, really alright. Kurt suddenly held a hand up in the air toward the other man, quickly turning in the other direction – luckily catching himself with one hand against the brick wall and narrowly avoiding another express trip to the pavement – and throwing up yet again, this time on the ground, and on his own feet.

"Fuck!" Weller said under his breath, realizing that he now had vomit on his face _and_ his shoes. " _Goddammit!"_ Holding onto the wall, he took a few steps away from the new puddle, then turning to his side and leaning his body against the wall. The driver, to his credit, had gone to his trunk and now returned with a small towel. It wasn't what he would describe as clean, but it was better than nothing, and when the man held it out to him, Weller took it.

"I thought you might need this. Better not to smell like puke if you don't have to," he said, still watching Kurt carefully, not really wanting to be thrown up on.

"Thanks, man," Kurt mumbled, taking the towel but keeping himself balanced against the wall. He could only imagine how comical it looked as he tried to bend over far enough to wipe the puke off his shoes without landing on his face – again – but he didn't really care at that moment. He wiped his face off as best he could, then held the towel back out to the other man. The driver just shook his head, undoubtedly disgusted enough that he didn't want his own towel back, so Kurt threw it into a trash can which was, mercifully, only a few feet further along the wall. When he made his way back, the driver handed him a few tissues, that he'd found in the front of the cab.

"For your nose," he told him, "It's still bleeding." Kurt didn't feel any pain at the moment, but he knew that he would later. Pressing the tissues carefully to his face, he noticed the cab driver watching him. "You sure you're okay, man? You wanna throw up one more time? Cause I really don't need it in my cab."

Kurt grimaced. "I'm in no shape to make promises, but I think I'm done." The driver nodded, then walked back to the back door and opened it for him, then backed up. Concentrating hard, Weller pushed himself off the wall and staggered forward, using every available ounce of concentration he could muster to keep himself upright long enough to get to the side of the cab.

 _I could use another drink,_ he thought as he finally leaned against the car, pausing for a second and preparing to lower himself far enough to push himself inside. The voice in his head warned him that this wasn't a good decision, but that was not something he was in the mood for. _Fuck good decisions_ , he thought, suddenly angry again. He leaned out of the car to grab the door handle and close the door behind him, narrowly avoiding _another_ fall back onto the pavement. His head swam from the quick movement as he sat back up in the cab, and the driver looked back at him doubtfully in the rear view mirror.

"Man, you sure you're not gonna throw up?" he asked.

Kurt was getting sick of this guy. If he threw up in the goddamn cab, then he threw up in the goddamn cab. This guy needed to shut the fuck up.

However, Kurt reminded himself that the cab would take him somewhere that was preferable to face first on the sidewalk, and that if he gave this guy trouble, _he'd_ have to go through the trouble of finding, and then getting himself into, _another_ cab… so it would be easier just not to piss this guy off.

"I'm good, man," he said through gritted teeth.

"Alright," the driver said warily, "so where we going?"

Kurt gave him the first address that came to mind, then leaned back against the seat and closed his eyes, willing himself not to pass out, throw up, or do anything else that he would come to regret, at least for as long as it would take for them to reach his destination. He couldn't remember the past few hours very well, but he got the feeling that he may already have done enough things that he would regret for one day.

It seemed like five minutes later when the cab's motion stopped and Kurt heard the car being shifted into Park. He forced his eyes open and the first thing he saw was the cab driver staring at him. "The fare's $15.50," he said in a voice that sounded unnecessarily loud to Kurt's ears. Nodding, Kurt reached for his wallet. To his dismay, it wasn't in any of his pockets. Had he left it at the bar? He vaguely remembered giving the bartender his credit card – which, come to think of it, he didn't think he'd remembered to retrieve – but where the hell was his _wallet_?

"Fuck," he said under his breath as he checked his pockets again. "One second," he said to the driver, taking his phone out of his jacket pocket and navigating clumsily through the menu until he found the person he was looking for. _Please pick up_ , he thought, unable to think of another solution to his current problem.

She didn't answer, and the call went to voicemail, so he called again. Finally, on the fourth ring of the second call, she picked up.

"What do you want, Kurt?" she asked, irritation in her voice. "It's 4:15 in the morning."

"You have any cash?" he asked her. "Like, $20." He could hear her sigh in annoyance at the other end of the line, and he swore he could even hear her sitting up in bed.

"Are you okay? You sound drunk. And where are you that you need $20?" She was awake now. _What the hell had Kurt gotten himself into?_ she wondered. _This wasn't like him._

"I'm…" he paused. He knew that she would know if he lied. It wasn't worth it. He didn't have the energy anyway. "Yes, I'm fucking drunk," he replied in irritation. "And no, I'm not fucking okay… and I'm outside your building in a cab and I lost my goddamn wallet so if you could come outside with $20, that would be great."

He heard her sigh again, though he couldn't decide what kind of sigh it was, and after only a short pause, she said, "Okay Kurt, I'll be right down." And then the line went dead.

He looked back up at the cab driver apologetically then, and saw that the guy was looking back at him sympathetically. "Rough day, huh?" he asked.

"Man, you have no idea," Kurt replied. He started to shake his head, but stopped when he realize that doing so would make him dizzy. Closing his eyes against another wave of nausea, he put his head down against the seat in front of him and took a deep breath.

It seemed like only seconds later when he heard the sound of the front window being rolled down, and two voices, the driver's and hers, greeting each other as if it wasn't crazy for the cab driver to be delivering a drunken Kurt Weller to her building at 4:15 in the morning. He pushed his eyes open and was startled when the door beside him was opened quickly. He turned to the driver, nodding, and then wincing from the effort. "Thanks, man."

"No problem," the driver replied. "Take care. Hope you have a better day tomorrow."

Weller scoffed. "Yeah, I sure as hell hope so, too," he told him. With that, he turned and somehow pushed himself out of the cab, stepping out of the way so that he could slam the door behind him. He focused all of his concentration on standing on the curb without falling down, despite the fact that he was still dizzy, as the cab sped away behind him.

Crossing her arms in front of her, she looked at him critically. "You wanna tell me what's going on?" she asked, "Because you look like _hell_."

He sighed heavily, closing his eyes to combat the dizziness. "Hello to you, too, Allie."

There was a voice in the back of his head that told him that he didn't really want to be at Allie's, that that wasn't where he should be, but he had ignored it. Where the fuck else was he going to go? He couldn't deal with Sarah right now, if she was even home, and Reade, Zapata and Mayfair, the only other people he trusted, were working on Jane's case. Not only that, but they were his coworkers, and it was just… different. He and Allie, well, it wasn't as though they hadn't shown up and each other's places in the middle of the night before. Generally it was before midnight, but still… it had been Allie's place or an empty hotel room, and while that had its perks, he knew he wasn't in the best state of mind to be taking care of himself.

Of course, he was going to have to answer some questions tomorrow. Like, for one, _What the hell happened to your face_? But he knew that he could dodge the ones he didn't want to answer. Hadn't they done enough of that when they'd been together? _Which is why it didn't work, dumbass,_ he reminded himself.

She looked at him critically, but helped him upstairs without a word, cleaned off his face the best she could and informed him that he needed to have his nose looked at the next day – to which he'd just nodded – then she'd walked him straight into her guest room, where he'd collapsed on the bed. If she'd come back in at all, he hadn't heard her. He was just glad to finally pass out.

…

When he woke up the second time, it was to a ringing sound once again – although this time the noise didn't seem quite as harsh. Lifting his head carefully, remembering what had happened the last time he'd woken up, he opened his eyes very slowly, and was glad to note the improvement over his previous attempt. His head still felt mildly like it was splitting open, but at least the light in the room wasn't blinding. Looking at the clock, he was startled to see that it was noon.

 _Fuck! I slept til noon_? He couldn't remember the last time he'd slept anywhere near that late. Noting his throbbing head, he began to do an inventory of how the rest of him felt. He was pretty much sore everywhere, and he was still very nauseous, but it wasn't as bad as it had been when he'd woken up earlier. Next to the clock, he saw a tall glass of water and a bottle of Tylenol, which he managed to get open (after only a few minutes of cursing at the childproof top). Sitting up to swallow the pills and the entire glass of water had taken all of his energy, and he laid back down on the pillow. Suddenly, he heard that same shrill noise again, the one that had now woken him up twice so far today, and which he now recognized as his phone.

He sat up just enough to reach it off of the nightstand, then laid back down. Zapata was calling him, and she had probably _been_ calling him for hours. Taking a deep breath before facing the music, he pressed the green button on his screen and held the phone carefully to his ear, ready to retract it if she started screaming at him.

"Zapata, hey. Sorry I didn't come in last night," he said, apologizing before she had a chance to start in on him. "I, uh…" _I got really, really drunk, fell on my face and broke my nose, puked on myself and ended up at Allie's?_ He wasn't sure he was ready to admit all of that.

"Weller, you need to come in." Zapata's voice was different. Cold and flat. Something was wrong, and somehow he had a strong feeling that it didn't have to do with Jane.

"What's wrong?" he asked, confused.

"Nope, not over the phone," she said. "Get your ass in here, _now."_ And just like that, she was gone.

Kurt laid against the pillow, stunned. Zapata didn't talk like that – not to _him_ – unless she was joking around, and she had _not_ been joking around. He pushed himself up quickly, only to realize that he'd sat up _much_ too quickly. Waiting a few minutes before moving again, he took things at a slower pace as he got up out of bed and walked out into Allie's kitchen. There was a note written in her familiar handwriting, which said simply, _You owe me._ He wouldn't be hearing the end of this for a long time, he knew. Beside the note, there was a paper McDonald's bag which contained, as he saw when he looked inside, two cheeseburgers, still in their familiar packaging. His favorite cure for hangovers.

He felt a wave of gratitude to Allie wash over him, and he almost smiled at the kindness of her gesture. She'd gone out and gotten him exactly what he liked to eat when he was hungover, despite the fact that he'd shown up and demanded that she pay for his cab at 4am. They weren't good together, and he knew it, but she knew him, and he knew her. They were a bad match, but she was a good person. There was something to be said for that.

He remembered that his wallet was still missing. After some research, he managed to figure out the name of the bar he'd been at the night before, called them and was told that yes, he had left his wallet and his credit card. Grabbing the bag Allie had left him, he headed outside to hail a cab back to the bar so that he could get his belongings, and his car, and then be on his way to the office to find out what was so damn urgent.

As the cab made its way across town, a feeling of dread grew in the pit of his stomach. The more he thought about it, the more sure he became that his day was about to get a _lot_ worse.

 _A/N: For the record, while I'm sure Allie's character is a perfectly nice person in her own right, if you know me on Twitter then you know that the show managed to make me hate her for the way she made things worse between Jane and Kurt. That being said, as I was writing this chapter, she seemed like the most obvious person for Kurt to go to – since A) there are only a few people in his life to start with and B) he's in the mood to make bad decisions. Notice that I made them keep their hands to themselves, and even let her do something nice for him. :) I know Kurt running to Allie is not very helpful to the whole Jeller thing, but it's all kinds of messed up right now anyway, so… Just trust me, we'll get there._


	7. Lost

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

KURT, ZAPATA, READE AND PATTERSON

When Kurt had finally arrived back at headquarters that afternoon, not too long after Zapata had called and demanded his presence, he had looked and smelled like hell. As far as he was concerned, his insides matched his outsides, because he didn't just look like hell, he felt like it, too. He found the rest of the team waiting for him in Patterson's lab, the room ominously quiet. Normally he would have found it strange to find his team just sitting there silently, but at that particular moment he was too thankful for the lack of noise to be suspicious of it – his head was throbbing unforgivingly, despite the Tylenol he'd taken, and the less noise there was, the better.

Stepping through the doorway, the next thing that he noticed was that the lights in the room were _far_ too bright. _Have they always been this bright?_ he wondered, squinting slightly and wishing he could go back to sleep. His head pounded even harder, though he tried his best to ignore it. He didn't say a word as he entered the room, simply stepped through the door and stood there while his eyes adjusted to the florescent lighting – which, of course, had never been a problem before – and just waited for the others to notice him. He was _not_ in the mood for this.

Patterson, Zapata and Reade had been seated silently at the counter, having failed in their attempt to make small talk while they waited for Kurt to arrive. Like him, they were all in shock over everything that had happened in the past 24 hours, and making conversation simply required more energy than any of them had at that particular moment.

Zapata was seated facing the door, so she was the first one to notice him. "Hey, boss," she called, but her voice held none of its usual levity. The other two turned quickly to see Weller standing just inside the doorway, looking lost. Not lost as in he didn't know where he was going, but lost as in he didn't know what to do next.

Really, he _**didn't**_ know what to do. It took a few seconds for him to process that anyone had spoken to him, and at that point he glanced up and nodded slightly at the group, then took a few more slow steps toward them. It was just too much, however, and he stopped, glancing around distractedly before his gaze focused on the ground. _I'm here_ , he thought, forgetting that no one else could hear him, _for all the goddamn good it'll do._

He was in far worse shape than any of his team mates had ever seen him before. In the years that the group had worked together, Kurt had never come to work hung over before, though he was definitely no stranger to the odd night out, or to alcohol in general. Today, however, it was pretty clear that what he'd been doing the previous night – getting shit-faced drunk – had now caught up with him, and that it was hitting him hard.

 _Fuck_ , _my head hurts,_ Kurt thought. _Why did I… fuck!_

His mind had formed the words before he could stop it. _Of course_ he knew why he'd been drinking so heavily the night before. The fact that he'd forgotten for a split second may have seemed like a reprieve, except that it made it worse when the reality that had to crash down around him all over again. He didn't need to finish asking himself why he'd done this to himself, because the fragment of a thought alone had summoned to his mind the one person that he least wanted to think about – _Jane_.

He saw her before his eyes with startling clarity, her green eyes even brighter than usual. The vision of her was so clear, it was as if she was actually there in front of him. This wasn't helpful, of course, because that meant that not only did he feel like absolute crap physically due to his hangover, but his mind howled in agony as well. _I can't do this now,_ he thought desperately, fighting back against the tempest of feelings that came with Jane's face as he attempted to clear his mind.

As the others sat and watched Kurt, still standing by the door, a change came over his face. For a few seconds, his features appeared to contort in anguish before the look began to fade slowly, as if he was _willing_ himself to ignore whatever it was that had just occurred to him. It wasn't hard to guess what he'd been thinking about – there were only three real possibilities, and one of those was by far the most likely.

After all, with Weller, it was _always_ about Jane. Ever since he'd met her, it had always _been_ about Jane, no matter what other things he might worry about.

Zapata, seeing that Kurt seemed to be stalled in place, got up and walked slowly toward him, watching him carefully and trying to read him. Reade and Patterson looked on sympathetically from where they sat. It was hard to watch Weller, the guy who nothing ever seemed to get to, like this. It made Reade, for one, even angrier with Jane, but he held his tongue. This was not the time.

"You okay, Weller? Cause you look like absolute _shit_ ," Zapata said, but not with the same edge that her brutal honesty usually held. This time, despite her tough words, her tone was soft.

But Kurt ignored both the question and Zapata's tone. He wasn't okay, and he figured that she knew it. It was probably pretty obvious, so why lie and say that he was? He needed to know what was so important that Zapata had insisted she couldn't tell him over the phone. "What's going on, Zapata?" he asked her in a raspy voice.

"You should probably sit down for this one," she told him seriously. Not in the mood to argue, he nodded almost imperceptibly before shuffling forward toward the chairs that the others had occupied only a few minutes before. Zapata sat down as well, facing Weller, then exchanged tired glances with Reade and Patterson. Zapata hated the idea of having to break the news of their boss' death to him, but she knew that of the three of them in the room who knew, it should be her. Patterson already had tears forming in the corners of her eyes, and Reade didn't seem like he was quite himself with everything that had happened. Zapata just felt like it should be her.

Reade looked at her questioningly, silently asking her if she wanted him to deliver the news, but she shook her head slightly. Then, turning back to Kurt, she took a deep breath and told him what they knew about Mayfair. It wasn't much. As they'd feared when Patterson had confirmed the blood residue in the abandoned basement that Zapata and Reade had found belonged to Mayfair, she'd finally been found dead. The details were sketchy – the information was being very tightly controlled, so they didn't know anything else yet.

Patterson and Reade stepped out to get the group some coffee, but Zapata stayed with Kurt, who appeared to be in shock. It made sense. This on top of everything else he'd already been through in the past twenty-four hours, and a massive hangover to boot… She just wished there was something she could do.

Ten minutes later, when Reade came back with the coffees, Kurt was still sitting, dumbfounded, at the counter. The information had gone in, but he was still having trouble processing it. The others just let him sit, knowing that as horrible as it was for them, Kurt was dealing with much more. It crossed the lines between business and personal for him, because really, his job _was_ his life, and because Taylor Shaw had led him to his job. And then Jane had connected the two once again.

 _Just don't say her name,_ he told himself. _Don't even think it._

He'd gotten good at repressing his emotions over the years, but his was not something that could be repressed, no matter how much he wanted it to be.

 _Mayfair's dead. Jane is a traitor – and not_ _ **just**_ _a traitor, but she lied and said that she was Taylor Shaw. But no, my father_ _ **killed**_ _Taylor Shaw. So Jane is just… a liar. Everything I thought I knew about her… everything I thought we had… it was all lies._

Zapata was sitting in front of Kurt, watching him worriedly. He certainly hadn't handled the combined news about his father and about Jane very well… She wasn't sure if he would suddenly snap and do something unexpected. She wasn't afraidof him hurting _her_ , but she was afraid of what his grief was doing to him inside.

Reade glanced over at Patterson as she entered the room. She'd been cornered in the hall by one of the higher ups, who had seemed almost glad that Mayfair was gone, on their way back from getting coffee. He made her sick, but they had no choice but to deal with him. He'd been the one to tell them that Weller was taking Mayfair's job. Weller had been so overwhelmed, he hadn't even mentioned it.

Patterson approached the others at the counter, looking shaken. Noticing her distress, Reade waved her over to him. Though it was out of character for him, Patterson was surprised when Reade wrapped his arm around her shoulder for a sort of half hug. She exhaled tiredly and leaned against his shoulder. Both of them, like Zapata, were watching Weller. No one spoke for a long time, simply sipping their coffee and wondering what the hell they were going to do next. Nothing they'd ever been through had prepared them for this, and they were going to have to find a way through it – which at that moment, seemed daunting.

It had been nearly an hour since Weller had arrived, most of which had been spent in silence, when Patterson looked up suddenly, as though she'd suddenly realized something important.

"Guys," she said, glancing at each of them in turn, "we're going to figure out what happened to Mayfair, right? And get to the bottom of—" she stopped, her eyes darting up to Kurt. She had been planning to say _And get to the bottom of what happened with Jane_ , but suddenly it didn't seem like such a good idea. "—of all of it," she finished, compromising with herself. She knew that Weller knew what she meant, which was confirmed when he winced slightly. "We owe it to her," she added, not specifying which _her_ , whether Mayfair or Jane, but then quietly, she said, "to _them."_ She paused, wondering what kind of reaction her next statement would get. "What if it's all related? Mayfair… Jane…" She'd uttered the last word tentatively, but Weller hadn't reacted. "It's too much of a coincidence."

Zapata finally tore her attention away from Weller's face. "Are we up for this?" she asked, looking from one of them to another in turn.

"Absolutely," Reade replied quickly.

"Oh, yeah," Patterson told her, looking and sounding more like her old self than she had since they'd found out about Jane's arrest. Leaving Reade's side, she approached Weller cautiously. It wasn't that she thought he'd hurt her, but she didn't want to set him off. She knew all too well about how easily that could happen when someone was in as much pain as Kurt was at that moment.

"Weller… what can I do?" Patterson asked softly.

He shook his head at her slowly. "There's nothing you can do, Patterson, but thanks." She closed the rest of the distance between them and hugged him tightly for a long few seconds before letting him go again, then stood back.

Zapata gave up on trying to find a subtle way to bring up what she was thinking. "Weller, maybe you should—"

But he didn't even let her finish. "Zapata, you're not getting rid of me than easily. I'm _not_ going home, and that's final."

The sudden force behind his voice surprised her. It was as if he'd just suddenly woken up and joined the conversation. She looked at him skeptically, but he shook his head.

"Not gonna happen. If there's one place I need to be, it's here," he told them, looking at each of them in turn so that they would know how serious he was. _A headache is not going to stop me from doing something this important_ , he thought, suddenly feeling much more clear headed than he had when he'd arrived. Whatever had happened to Mayfair, he was going to find out what it was. As far as Jane went… well, he wasn't really interested in helping her out. The team could work that part out on their own as far as he was concerned. He already knew all he needed to know.

Zapata glanced from Reade to Patterson. "OK, so we're doing this? Because I get the feeling that our _friend,_ " she glanced towards the hallway, in the direction of the man who'd cornered Patterson in the hallway – the same man who's told them repeatedly to _shut down the Jane Doe project_ – "isn't going to like us taking this on. Anyone concerned?"

Reade was already shaking his head emphatically. " _Hell_ , no. This is way too important." His tone changed slightly, and suddenly he sounded more like the Reade that she knew and loved. "Way too much for you to handle without me." He looked at her seriously, though she could see that he was joking, and she reached over and pretended to punch him. He jumped back out of range just in time, and she just shook her head at him.

Looking back at the blonde, Zapata wasn't quite sure Patterson was up for this new assignment, despite what she'd said. "You _sure_ , Patterson?"

"I told you," Patterson replied without hesitation, "We're gonna get to the bottom of _all of it._ After all, they would do it for us. _"_ Patterson glanced at Kurt for a split second, but he didn't react. Zapata couldn't help but smile at the determined look on her friend's face.

Kurt watched Zapata rally the team one by one, and despite feeling numb with the shock and grief that had continued to assault his senses, he couldn't help but be impressed with how Zapata had morphed into a kind of pseudo team leader all of a sudden. Despite the shock that all of them felt, there she was, keeping them focused. He was proud of her.

Zapata leaned forward, prompting the others to do the same. When she spoke, her voice was barely a whisper. "We need to meet somewhere else to do this. Away from the prying eyes." She glanced back at the hallway again, then back to her team. They all nodded, thinking of the room from which they'd unofficially coordinated their last case, after having been told to shut down the Jane Doe project – which they hadn't done. They agreed to meet there shortly, but to take different routes to get there and to stagger their departures to attract less suspicion.

Twenty minutes later, they stood in front of a white board much like the one they'd used in the past on which to collect the information they had about a case, so that they could begin this investigation the same methodical way they did on every case they worked. At one end, Zapata wrote "Mayfair" inside a circle. At the other end, she did the same thing for "Jane." Then they noted the few details that they knew for sure about each one.

Kurt wasn't sure how much help he would be, or how he would manage to keep his composure in the face of so many things weighing so heavily on him. But he was here, and figured that even on a bad day, he'd be of _some_ help. Never mind the fact that Mayfair would've sent him home, and he knew it. Officially, he was Mayfair now, and unless someone could force him to leave, he wasn't leaving.

"Okay," said Zapata, holding the dry erase marker at the ready, "what else?"

XXX

JANE

She knew that she'd been in that room for less than a day, but it felt like years. She'd pushed herself up against the wall and tried her hardest to block out everything by curling herself into a ball and pressing her head down into her knees. She'd tried her hardest to cease to exist, to simply disappear in the hopes that the pain would disappear with her… but alas, it didn't work that way. When she finally lifted her head, hours later, to stretch the soreness out of her neck, she was disappointed to see that everything was exactly as it had been the last time she'd looked.

At various points in the day, she would suddenly feel as though she was being watched, even without looking up from her cocoon, and she figured that she probably _was_ being watched. At one point during the afternoon, they'd sent Dr. Borden in to try to talk to her. He'd gone so far as to crouch down in front of her on the floor and asked her to talk to him, to say _something_ , anything she wanted to tell him. He'd almost begged. She'd desperately wanted to tell him everything, every bit of it, just to get it off of her chest. But she knew that it wouldn't solve anything, it would only make it worse.

And so she said nothing. What was there to say? She was guilty, and she knew it. Of course, she hadn't done the things that she'd done with the intent of harming anyone, but sadly that didn't make much difference, and it certainly didn't make her innocent. Not that they would have believed her anyway. No, she'd been complicit. She hadn't wanted to betray anyone – least of all Kurt, or even Oscar, but that was exactly what she'd ended up doing. It was hard to decide which one she'd betrayed in the worse way – the one she'd killed physically, or the one she'd killed emotionally.

Yes, at least Weller was still alive, she kept reminding herself, but it was hard to find much solace in having done the right thing – if what she had done could be considered the _right_ thing – when all she could think of was the look on Kurt's face, the look of betrayal just before he'd told her to turn around, before he'd arrested her. _Arrested her_. At gunpoint. All she'd ever wanted was to be near him, for literally almost as long as she could remember, and now he would never look at her again. As if that wasn't bad enough, she'd gotten Mayfair _killed_ , or at least that was what it looked like from her perspective. And Oscar? The guy she had apparently loved? She'd killed him _herself._ She'd brought everything crashing down around her and now she would have to live in the ashes.

 _You did this to yourself._

Her own voice, and yet not her own voice, from the video still haunted her. She had no answers, only questions, and now that was all she would ever have. Not only could Oscar no longer tell her what had happened _before_ , but the FBI sure wouldn't be giving her access to any of the information they had, either. _If_ they ever figured out what had happened to her. But then, they weren't trying to find that out anymore, were they? No, the "Jane Doe project" was over with.

She felt completely numb from the constant assault of her thoughts, hour after hour. When she grew tired of putting her head down on her knees, she simply stared straight ahead at the opposite wall. The windowed door which they'd entered through was to her left, and once in a while she would sense movement there, but she ignored it. It didn't matter. Nothing mattered. No one could help her. No one would _want_ to help her. She didn't even want to help _herself_ , after all, so she couldn't blame the others.

Toward what must have been late afternoon – judging the fact that she'd been arrested in the middle of the night and that they'd given her two meals since she'd been in that interrogation room – two meals that she had failed to touch – a man came to see her.

He looked like so many other men in the halls of the FBI – sickly pale skin, a dark suit, a short haircut, and a vacant look on his face. He sat at the table and attempted to lure Jane to the other chair, tried to get her to talk to him, but as she had with Dr. Borden, she refused. _Don't bother_ , she thought instead of telling him aloud, _I'm not worth the energy. Everyone knows I'm guilty_. It wasn't even solely that she didn't want to talk to him, though that _was_ part of it. In addition, even the thought of sitting in _that_ chair in _that_ interrogation room was too much for her.

After all, the last time she'd sat in that chair, she'd sat face to face with Kurt.

He'd been so concerned about her, so desperate to know why his name was on her back. Though he'd clearly been uncomfortable, he'd let her put her hand to his face in an attempt to retrieve a memory of him – a memory that she hadn't been able to make herself remember, and now she understood why. _Because I'd never_ _ **had**_ _memories of him to start with_. _At least not childhood memories. Because I'm not Taylor Shaw._ Her eyelids squeezed closed of their own accord and she felt tears on her cheeks. No, she couldn't do it, couldn't sit at that table with a stranger. She _couldn't._ Not even if she'd wanted to… which she didn't.

 _You are not a criminal_ , she tried to remind herself. _You were forced to do what you did._

Though it sounded impossible, she was both right and wrong at the same time, and she knew it. There was no getting around it. She was guilty, and that was that. She didn't deserve anyone's help. But she had also been coerced. It was impossible.

And yet, at the same time, it was so simple. As she stared numbly at the wall, she couldn't help but wish for what she'd had, for Kurt and rest of his team to be on her side, and that they would somehow be able to solve this, like they always solved impossible cases. That they would help get her out of this mess. She knew that such a thing would never happen, but that's the thing about wishes... they don't have to be based in reality.

She didn't wish for her life _before_ the memory wipe or before the tattoos back, didn't wish for Oscar, despite the fact that he'd been her fiancé… She felt horribly guilty about what she'd done to him, but she could live with him being gone. She didn't want to go back to that person, that stranger, that she'd been. The one who'd so carefully plotted against the FBI, who'd given up her whole life – but _for what?_

No, she didn't wish to be that stranger again, especially not now that she knew a little about her. That person – whoever that was – didn't seem like someone she wanted to spend much time getting to know. If only she could make herself understand what her own plan had been… and what the right thing to do about it was.

But mostly, logical or not, she just wished for _him_ , which only made everything hurt more.

She stayed in the same spot on the floor, against the wall, until they finally came to take her to a cell for the night. It was a relief to finally leave that room where the memories haunted her, even if the cell was tiny by comparison, like being kept in a box. Though she'd thought that sleep would claim her quickly, as exhausted as she was from the very long and draining day, instead she lay awake on the hard mattress in the cramped, square cell, aware of every creak and groan from anywhere in the building. Finally, mercifully, when she was afraid that the night would never end, sleep finally claimed her.

XXX

KURT

He'd thought that he didn't want to ever see her again, and he _didn't_. His emotions were so jumbled and confused that he couldn't have articulated them if he'd tried. And yet, after several hours with the team, going over what they knew about what happened to Mayfair and trying to reconstruct details that they didn't have, he'd excused himself to get yet more coffee and somehow ended up in the hallway that led to the interrogation rooms. It was the last place he wanted to be, but there he was. The closer he got to the where he knew Jane was being held, the more his pace slowed and his pulse quickened.

 _What the hell am I doing?_ he asked himself. He didn't have an answer, and yet he continued on, albeit slowly. It was as if something, some outside force, was drawing him there against his will. He wanted nothing more than to turn back around, but he pressed forward, dreading the moment that he would have to see her – and yet unable to stop himself.

The lights were on in only one of the interrogation rooms, he could see from a distance. He stopped about ten feet from the door and peered in, not seeing Jane seated at the table where he'd expected her to be. _Had she escaped?_ Somehow he doubted it. She'd allowed herself to be brought in without a fight, after all. He took small, tentative steps forward, peering around inside the room until finally he saw her, curled into herself on the floor, sitting against the wall.

Once again, the emotions were too many and too tangled up together for him to be able to understand what he felt. A surge of anger shook through him violently, but at the same time there was so much sadness, which was hard for him to understand. _She betrayed me_ , he thought angrily, _I refuse to feel sorry for her_! The problem was, however, that he couldn't stop himself. He had wanted to protect her, despite the fact that she could probably have kicked his ass if she'd tried hard enough. There had been something between them that he'd thought was real – it _had_ to have been be real… except that it hadn't been. It had all been… what? A game? A con? A mission? He had no answers, and it was already eating at him.

His hands were squeezed into fists before he realized it, and thankfully he resisted the momentary urge to charge into the room and confront her. _And say what, exactly?_ he asked himself.

At that, he felt himself deflating. No, there was nothing he wanted to say to her. What was left to say? He knew enough to know that she wasn't who he'd thought she was. And in the end, that was the only thing he needed to know.

XXX

KURT, ZAPATA, READE AND PATTERSON

Zapata looked up when Weller re-joined the group. He had his coffee, which was what he'd said he was going after. However, he'd been gone a long time, much longer than just getting coffee required. "There you are," she told him. "We thought you'd gotten lost."

Kurt just shrugged, taking another drink from his cup and looking away from Zapata. It wouldn't surprise him if she knew what he'd been doing. At that point he didn't care, as long as she kept her mouth shut about it.

In truth, each of them had been down to look in on Jane in the interrogation room at some point that day. None of them had gone in, or even made their presence known, but none of them, even Reade, could resist the pull they felt – no matter the emotions that pulled them there – in her direction. Patterson and Zapata had both been tearful to see Jane look so pathetic, hurting for their friend while wondering how much of what Weller had said about her could possibly be true. Weller and Reade had both been angry and betrayed, albeit in different ways.

They knew that at some point soon, Jane would be questioned, and that they probably wouldn't be there when it happened. They weren't exactly impartial. However, her case seemed to have been moved a few rungs down the priority list at the moment. It seemed that the murder of a high ranking FBI official took priority over other pending cases, even one as important as hers.

Zapata looked at Weller knowingly, but said nothing, turning back to the group. It seemed that there were nothing but long, hard days in their immediate future, but that didn't matter. Somehow she knew that they would figure this out, just like they always did.

For Weller's sake, and Jane's, she hoped so.


	8. Not Giving Up

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: I will be the first to admit, again, that I know nothing about FBI or pretty much any other government protocols other than what I see on TV shows like Blindspot (which I also know are not necessarily the real protocols). Therefore, I've tried to make them up as realistically as I can. Warning: I may or may not have made myself cry a little while writing this chapter… Thanks so much to those of your who've left reviews! They keep me going and always make me smile._

THE TEAM

The days that followed seemed to move frustratingly slowly. The team tried not meet in their makeshift situation room so much that they would arouse suspicion, but they went there as often as they could. They were given another case to investigate, and while it fell under FBI jurisdiction, and therefore wasn't frivolous by any stretch of the imagination, after nearly a year of tattoo cases it was hard for them to feel that anything else they worked on held quite the importance of the ones connected with Jane. With this new case, there didn't seem to be a larger plot in the works, just someone who thought they were smarter than everyone else. The team had gotten so used to the cases that were based on the tattoos, and therefore of thinking of everything as a puzzle that connected somehow, their new case seemed trivial. Ordinary.

It was nearing the end of another day, after they'd been officially _off the Jane Doe project_ , as Mr. Nice Guy – a nickname the team had given to their superior after he'd threated that he wouldn't be Mr. Nice Guy anymore – had put it. His arrival had coincided almost exactly with Mayfair's disappearance, and he'd been the one to name Kurt as first the acting, and then permanent, replacement for her.

"I never thought I'd say it," Reade had said to the team, "but this job has gotten… _boring_." Zapata and Patterson nodded, grimacing. It was the truth. They'd gotten so used to the mysterious plot behind the tattoos that working other cases just wasn't the same. They were still important, yes, but they each felt like they could be doing more. This felt like "busy work."

Kurt just gritted his teeth and pretended that he hadn't heard the last comment, for several reasons. First of all, he was the boss now. It had been a rough adjustment for him, no longer constantly going into the field with his team. That was a part of the job that he'd always enjoyed, that he'd been good at. Things felt different between himself and the team, too. Being lead agent was different than being head of the NYO. He was still part of the team, of course… except that in another way, he wasn't. He hadn't named anyone else to the team to replace himself as of yet – there was too much going on. The team had gone from three – himself, Reade and Zapata – to four when Jane had joined them, albeit accidentally at first – and now to two – just Reade and Zapata. He knew that they needed another agent to help them, but… he just couldn't bring himself to do it.

But work wasn't the only reason things were different, of course. He was trying very hard not to compare his life now to his life _before_. But before what? And what _life_ , really? When had he ever really had a life outside of work? The only thing he had outside of work was an apartment – because he had to sleep somewhere – and Sarah and Sawyer. He barely counted that as a life… What little life he had had _always_ been about Taylor Shaw. There was no time that he couldn't remember that he hadn't either had her _in_ his life – though that time was far, far too short – or devoted himself to the pursuit of finding her, and of her memory. Jane was even lumped into that time, because he'd been so very sure, so _convinced_ , that she had been Taylor.

So really, when he tried to avoid thinking about her, he'd had to block out his entire life up to 5 days ago – or, 4 really, because that whole hangover situation wasn't something he wanted to think about, either. It still had him slightly queasy to think about waking up in Allie's spare room that morning – and so he simply tried not to. All he could do was to attempt to keep himself in the present and force himself to move forward. He wanted absolutely nothing to do with his past.

 _How ironic, since Jane so desperately wanted to find out about her past – until she actually did – and you want_ _ **nothing**_ _to do with yours._ He ordered his inner voice to stop, but it seemed to be on a roll. _Too bad you can't erase your_ _ **own**_ _memory – selectively, of course. That would be so much easier, so convenient._ This was one of those times when he hated the voice in his head.

His jaw tightened until it hurt, and he forced himself to take a deep breath, exhaling slowly and looking up at his team, who sat across the desk from him. They were in the middle of briefing him on their progress on their new case in his office. Was he imagining it, or were they looking at him strangely? He wondered if his thoughts showed on his face.

"Anything else?" he asked them through gritted teeth. He didn't disagree with Reade about the job feeling like it had lost a sense of meaning, however, it wasn't solely because of the mundane case that Mr. Nice Guy now had them working. It wasn't just his _job_ that felt like it had lost meaning, after all. His _life_ felt as though it had lost important meaning – which was ironic considering that he felt like he didn't even _have_ a life. But everything he'd known had been a _lie_. This mundane case was the only thing that was _real_. And yet, this "reality" felt pathetic and empty.

The three agents across the desk from him shook their heads. There was nothing new. They knew that they should be giving the case their full attention, but at the same time, they also knew that given their full attention, they could solve the case with their eyes shut. Their attention, however, was being split in several directions, and they had no plans for this to change.

"Thanks," Kurt said. "Let me know if anything changes."

"Will do," Reade said, and the three of them got up to leave. Kurt already looked like his thoughts were a million miles away.

Zapata left the office last, and paused in the doorway, turning around. "Weller?" she asked.

He looked up at her, as if he was surprised to still find her there. "Yeah?" he asked, looking confused.

"Are you okay?"

He nodded, the same way he always did. "I'm fine," he insisted gruffly.

Patterson smiled sadly at him, nodding. "It's okay if you're not, you know."

Kurt knew that she was being supportive, but he couldn't help but be a little bit irritated by her just then. "I'm _really_ okay, Zapata," he repeated, trying not to let the annoyance show in his voice.

She nodded, and turned to follow the others out into the hall, catching up with them as Reade and Patterson turned down the hallway that would take them to their unofficial meeting room to work on their "real" case – the important one. They hadn't been there yet that day, so it was time to head down for a little while. Zapata paused at the intersection, looking the other way.

ZAPATA

"I'll catch up with you guys," she told them, looking away. The other two just nodded, knowing exactly what she was doing. They'd all been going down to look in on Jane at least once a day, sometimes more. Zapata and Patterson had gone in and tried to talk to her. So far, the closest Reade had gotten to her was looking at her through the window, but he'd done it at least once every day. As angry as he was, he wanted to understand. He was conflicted, and the more he thought about the whole thing, the more conflicted he felt.

Zapata wondered if Jane was in Interrogation, or in her cell. She'd noticed one difference after that first day, which was that since then, Jane had never been put in Interrogation Room 1, always in one of the others. She had a very strong feeling that Weller been behind that one. Just thinking about her boss and his obvious feelings for Jane made her heart hurt. He'd obviously been to see her that first day since he seemed to have known which room she'd been in, but she was fairly sure that he hadn't been down that way since then. He avoided the subject of her completely, and she'd noticed the muscles in his face contract tightly each time anything remotely related to Jane was mentioned.

This made things awkward in their improvised "secret lab," because they were looking for clues about Mayfair, but also about Jane. It didn't stop Weller from coming down there, however, and she supposed that under the circumstances, it was the best they could expect for now. Weller was loyal to a fault, but he was also one of the most stubborn people she knew – which reminded her of herself, actually – and she wasn't sure if any of them would be able to get through to him about Jane. It didn't help that they still didn't know exactly what had _happened_ , because Jane still wasn't talking, and no one could find any leads.

It had been five days of official interrogations, of visits from Dr. Borden, Zapata and Patterson, but she still hadn't said a single word. Zapata couldn't figure out why. Maybe she could understand why she wouldn't talk to the official interrogators or even Dr. Borden, though it was making her look guilty as hell, but why wouldn't she talk to her, or to Patterson? As an FBI agent and as a friend, she was frustrated with Jane for not cooperating. They weren't solely trying to prosecute her, after all. They were _trying_ to help her – at least she and Patterson were – though she wasn't making it easy for them.

As Zapata neared the end of the hallway, she saw that the lights were on in Interrogation Room 2. Walking to the door, she shook her head sadly, pausing at the door when she saw Jane in the same spot she always seemed to occupy – on the floor, against the wall, with her knees pulled up to her chest.

 _Here goes nothing,_ she thought as she let herself into the room for the umpteenth time.

The door clicked loudly to signal her entrance, and then clicked loudly again when it locked behind her, but Jane showed no sign of having heard it. This time, she sat with her left cheek leaned against her knees, staring at the back wall of the room. Zapata approached slowly, knowing that after so many unsuccessful attempts, by her and by others, she wasn't at all likely to get Jane talking. It was as though Jane had just shut down, and nothing anyone said could get through to her. Still, Zapata couldn't just give up on her. Jane was stubborn, but so was she. The whole team seemed to have that in common, actually.

She leaned her back against the wall on Jane's left, sliding down it until she was sitting on the floor beside her. "Jane," she said in a quiet voice, turning her head towards her, "talk to me. _Please."_ She couldn't erase the side of her that was an FBI agent and wanted to make progress on Jane's case, but mostly, she hated to see her friend so obviously hurting and keeping it all inside. "You can _trust_ me."

Zapata could hear Jane's breath catch in her chest, which was more of a reaction that she or anyone else had gotten in any of their other attempts. Though it was a tiny thing, she couldn't help but feel encouraged by it. "We need your help," Zapata continued quietly. "We want to help you. You _know_ we do… don't you?" She'd said it so many times she felt like a broken record by now. Still, she couldn't help but think that if she only tried hard enough, eventually Jane would come around.

It wasn't really a secret that the official interrogations that the Bureau was doing with Jane were _not_ so kind. Those agents did _not_ seem concerned with helping Jane out of trouble so much as finding out what they could pin blame on her for, so Zapata tried to be the opposite of those. More than anything, she tried to remind Jane that she thought of her as her friend, and maybe unlike the official interrogators, as a human being, not just a heavily tattooed asset who may or may not have gone rogue.

No matter what the truth was, Zapata refused to believe that it had _all_ been a lie, that Jane had plotted it all from the beginning. She had seen Jane back when they'd first found her, and she had _not_ been lying. Maybe Zapata believed this because she just wanted to believe it, or maybe because Patterson, the eternal optimist, was rubbing off on her. Or maybe it was because she'd seen the way Jane had looked at Kurt and refused to believe the feelings that she so obviously had for him hadn't been real… Or maybe it was a combination of the three. Whatever it was, and whatever Jane _had_ done, she wanted to help her – if she could only figure out _how_. But she couldn't do anything until she got her to talk.

And so she kept trying.

She sat beside Jane and listened to her breathe for a while, staring ahead at the metal table in front of her and the opposite wall beyond it, not saying anything else. After about twenty minutes, she looked over at the back of Jane's head and smiled sadly. "I'm not giving up, Jane," she whispered. "Please let me help you. Just think about it."

With that, Zapata got up, dusted herself off and walked towards the door, looking back over her shoulder as the door clicked, signaling the lock's release and clicking again a few seconds later to signal that it was once again locked behind her. As usual, Jane hadn't moved the whole time she'd had been there. Shaking her head sadly, Zapata turned to leave, the echo of her footsteps soon disappearing down the hall.

JANE

She so badly wanted to turn around and tell Zapata every little thing that she could remember, about all of it, and she couldn't quite pinpoint what was stopping her. It wasn't that she was afraid – not exactly. After all, what was there to be afraid of? She was _already_ in jail, after all, or in FBI custody anyway, which was close enough. She was grateful that she at least was not mixed in with a general prison population - her FBI detention conditions were more like solitary confinement, except for her daily visits from her interrogators, Dr. Borden, Patterson and Zapata. But that was fine with her. Having fewer people that she had to avoid talking to was easier.

What she couldn't figure out was why she was so adamant about not talking to anyone. She knew that it didn't make sense that she didn't even know herself why she wasn't talking. It wasn't because of a lack of people that were trying to get her to talk, either – using many different techniques, too. The Bureau's interrogators were pretty relentless with their questioning. Every time they left, she felt even guiltier than she had before they'd arrived, and the feelings of guilt compounded every day. Visits from Zapata and Patterson made her feel sad in addition to guilty. How could she have done this to her friends? _To Kurt?_ At this point, on the fifth day, it had become unbearable.

The interrogators seemed to think that eventually they would break her, but they couldn't be farther from the truth. No, the more they questioned her, the less she wanted to tell them anything. It had become clear that they were more interested in using her for information anyway. This was the only real power she had, and as strange as it may seem, that made her more determined to keep the information to herself. Besides, they didn't care about helping her. So what was the point? She'd still end up in jail.

But Zapata and Patterson kept coming in and sitting with her, speaking softly to her and tempting her to tell them everything – or _anything,_ really. Even Dr. Borden had been a welcome visitor, though she'd shown no hints of how much any of these visits had meant to her. It was the same as the interrogators' visits, but the opposite. She knew that while they did need to try to solve her case, they _cared_ about her, and _not_ just because of their jobs. But again, what would be the point? What good could it do to tell them anything at this point? She'd still end up in jail… and she was already _in_ jail.

And so she sat, torturing herself, through what felt like an endless string of visits, some friendly and some not, but all of them pointless. She wasn't going to talk.

But it was wearing on her, the emotional toll of all of it, and on the fifth day when Zapata sat beside her and pleaded quietly with her to talk, she almost did. Jane knew that she was close to the end of her rope, and it was all she could do to catch herself, letting out a small noise as her breath caught in her throat, but nothing else. _Zapata, you have no idea how much I_ _ **want**_ _to talk,_ she told her silently. Still, she said nothing, didn't move at all, simply let Zapata's words bounce around in her head.

 _Jane, talk to me. Please. You can trust me._

 _We need your help. We want to help you. You know we do… don't you?_

 _I'm not giving up, Jane. Please let me help you. Just think about it._

Jane was glad she was facing the back wall when Zapata got up to leave. As far as Jane was concerned, it was better that her friend couldn't see the tears rolling across her cheeks, soaking the knees of her pants.

PATTERSON

Patterson had known exactly where Zapata was headed, and she had hoped that she'd have some luck this time. Every time one of them went down to Interrogation, they hoped that this would be the time they'd get lucky, and Jane would talk. However, when Zapata ducked quietly through the doorway of their makeshift workspace, Patterson could see from looking at her that she hadn't been any more successful than any of their other attempts.

It was all just so _unfair_ , Patterson thought to herself. _Hadn't Jane been through enough? Did no one else but them care about her as a human being? Why did it seem like the tattoos were the only thing that other people could see?_ No wonder they made Jane feel so self-conscious that she tried to hide them. Patterson was angry with the world, but had no one to take it out on, and so she did what she always seemed to do – she threw herself even harder into her work. _Surely_ , if she looked hard enough, she would find what they'd been missing.

Reade and Zapata were sitting across the room by the white board having a discussion, but Patterson wasn't listening. She stared intently at one of the giant monitors that they'd managed to find in unused offices and brought into their workroom, which she – being the tech genius – had connected together. It was almost as good as working in the screens room… except, of course, that they were working down here because they didn't have their whole team. Jane was a part of their team now, and they needed to get her back. Even Weller, though he did come down some of the time, wasn't quite on their side because of the whole Jane thing. No, until this mess was fixed, she would simply have to work harder. She had lost David for good, but she could still get Jane and Weller back. She _would_ get them back.

It was Reade who called their attention to the time, and reminded them that they couldn't afford to stay down there much longer without attracting unwanted attention. They reluctantly agreed, turning out the lights and locking the door before heading back to their assigned workstations.

Patterson sat in her lab for a full five minutes staring at the same page of notes before she realized that she had read it three times but hadn't actually read a word of it. Sighing in frustration, she stood up and stretched. For all the good it would do, it was time for her to go and try again.

The lights were out in all of the interrogation rooms, which meant that they'd taken Jane back to her cell. Patterson's insides clenched, knowing that as much as she disliked seeing Jane in an interrogation room, it was a hundred times better than seeing her in a jail cell. However, her personal discomfort didn't matter – not when she had a friend who needed her. And despite the fact that Jane hadn't looked at or even spoken to any of them in the five days that she'd been held there, they knew that she needed them. Jane may not have even known it herself, but Patterson and Zapata certainly did. If absolutely nothing else, even if she didn't need them to solve her case – which they believed that she _did_ – she needed them because they were her friends.

 _After all, everyone needs someone who won't give up on them_ , Patterson thought.

And so she went through yet another series of locked doors, past a guard who checked her ID carefully and buzzed her through another heavy, barred door. Though her team didn't normally have access to any of the cells, after what she was sure had been strenuous objections from Mr. Nice Guy and the other higher ups, Weller had managed to have their team granted access to a small portion of them, one that was set far away from the others, where Jane was being held and no one else.

It had surprised and confused the hell out of the rest of the team that Weller had done something like that, but it only served to reinforce in Zapata and Patterson's minds that they shouldn't lose hope. Despite the fact that Kurt had told them in no uncertain terms that he was done with her, they had reason to believe that his feelings for Jane were even more complicated than even he realized. He needed time, they knew, and they _all_ needed to get to the truth. The trick was, how to _get_ to the truth.

Patterson approached Jane's cell slowly and quietly, feeling somewhat intimidated by the thick bars separating her from her friend. It was like a slap in the face, as if someone was saying that they needed protection from her. Granted, they had all seen Jane in action and they knew exactly the kind of violence that she was capable of. But Patterson knew beyond a shadow of a doubt that Jane would never hurt her. On the contrary, she'd saved their team numerous times, and she trusted her with her life. It hurt to see her locked up like a common criminal.

PATTERSON AND JANE

Jane was sitting in her cell the same way she sat in the interrogation room: on the floor, her arms wrapped around her knees and her head down. The cell was so tiny that the square of floor that she sat on was almost the only floor space available. It just happened that she was right beside the bars on one side, and Patterson, as she had done the one other time she'd come to see Jane in her cell, sat down on the floor just on the other side of the bars from where her friend sat – as close to her as she could get. She was already fighting back tears as she looked at her, and she was momentarily thankful that Jane had her head down, as usual, and couldn't see them.

 _Stop it, Patterson,_ she told herself. _This isn't about you. Jane needs you. You have to be stronger than this._

And so she wiped the tears that she had already shed, and firmly told herself that no more were allowed to come. Miraculously, somehow it worked, and she turned her attention to Jane. She watched her slow, even breathing for a few minutes, knowing very well that her friend was not asleep and that she knew that she was there, even if she chose not to move or react. Patterson didn't know how she knew, she just did. After all, this was Jane, whose skills were so phenomenal, sometimes they seemed to border on superpowers.

"We're trying, Jane," she whispered, "but we need your help." She let her words sink in for a few minutes, not feeling rushed. If anything, despite how much she hated it there, she wanted to stay as long as she could get away with. She hated to imagine the hours upon hours that Jane sat in there alone. After a while, Patterson spoke again. "I know it's… scary. And I know that I don't know what you're going through. I can't even _imagine_." She paused, trying to think of what else to say. She felt like she'd tried every combination of supportive words over the past five days, again and again but to no avail. Somehow, she was convinced that if she could just find the right words, that Jane would talk to her.

"Jane, I know if doesn't feel like it, but you're going to get through this. We're going to figure it out. We're not going to stop until we do. But…" she paused, feeling silly because she was repeating so much of what she's said in the past, but desperately hoping that this would be the time she got through to her. "But Jane, _we need your help._ " Patterson felt her voice breaking on the last word, felt the tears stinging her eyes again, and cursed herself silently. _Stop it!_ she ordered herself. Then, in an even quieter voice, she added,"Just like you need ours. We're a team, remember?" She heard the slightest noise then, a muffled sob that had escaped despite Jane's best attempts to stop it.

Though she knew that it wasn't allowed, Patterson put her hand through the bars and squeezed Jane gently on the shoulder. She felt Jane flinch for a second, surprised by the contact she hadn't been expecting, then felt her relax, a ragged breath escaping from her that was, again, without her permission. Finally, for the first time in five days, Jane raised her head and looked at Patterson. Up to that point, she hadn't even looked at a single person who'd come to talk to her, so this was already huge progress. The depth of the sadness in Jane's eyes almost took Patterson's breath away. It was something she couldn't describe properly to Zapata afterwards, though she tried.

Jane's sad eyes fixed on her friend for a full minute, and then, even more unexpectedly, she spoke. Her voice was hoarse from her prolonged silence, but there was no mistaking the sadness in it. "I'm ready to talk. But only to Kurt."

Patterson was no longer attempting to stop the tears that were falling down her cheeks now, and she squeezed Jane's shoulder again, nodding. She wasn't offended by Jane's insistence on talking to Weller. On the contrary, it made sense. Whatever had happened, it was so much more between Jane and Kurt than the rest of them.

Besides that, she could appreciate Jane's strategy. Jane most likely knew that Kurt wouldn't talk to her otherwise, based on what she'd heard about their last interaction. But Kurt would also never let a case go unsolved solely because of his personal feelings about someone. He was too deeply committed to his job to allow that, even where it involved Jane. Or maybe, especially where it involved Jane. It might take a while, but he would talk to her if that was the _only_ way to get her to talk.

Nodding through her tears, which were filled with both hope and sadness and so many other emotions, Patterson managed to find her voice as well. "Okay, Jane, I'll tell him," she told her friend. "And if you need anything…" she trailed off, finding herself choked by the flood of emotions that had simply overtaken her since Jane had spoken.

"Thank you, Patterson," Jane whispered, so softly that the blonde almost didn't hear her. Jane sniffled slightly, and her eyes looked a little glassier than usual, but she managed to keep her composure better than Patterson did. She covered Patterson's hand, still on her shoulder, with one of her own and squeezed it for a few seconds before letting go. Patterson slowly withdrew her hand and smiled sadly at Jane as she stood up to go.

"I'll see you soon," Patterson told her. Jane just nodded at her, watching as Patterson turned and retraced her path out of the secured area, back out into the hallways.

PATTERSON, ZAPATA AND READE

She had almost gotten her emotions under control but when she found Zapata and Reade, who were chatting with each other from their workstations. Suddenly she felt the flood of emotions once again and wondered if she would be able to hold it together, and for how long.

Zapata and Reade could see right away that something had happened, because it was written all over Patterson's face.

"What is it?" Zapata asked quickly. "What happened?"

"It's Jane," Patterson replied quickly, but keeping her voice low. The three of them quickly huddled together. "She said she'll talk… but only to Weller."

It took a minute for this to sink in with the other two agents. Patterson had taken it as an encouraging, if problematic, step, but Reade shook his head, knowing that this news was _not_ going to go over well with their boss. Zapata's face morphed into deep concentration, as if she were considering how to solve a complex problem – which really, she was. The question was, how would they possibly convince Weller that talking to Jane was to his benefit?

Patterson, seeing the skepticism on the faces of the other two, shook her head. "No, it's ok. I think he'll do it." Zapata and Reade looked at her in confusion, waiting for the explanation that had brought their brilliant tech to this unexpected conclusion. From where they sat, it looked highly unlikely at best.

"Think about it!" Patterson exclaimed. "Have you _ever_ known Weller to let his personal feelings keep him from solving a case?" Reade looked at her pointedly, ready with a burning sarcastic comment, but Patterson was faster. "Reade, I _know_ what you think about Jane's effect on Weller, from the very beginning, but that's not what I'm talking about. Despite however he may or may not have been different around her, however her presence may have changed his judgement, it _never_ made him unwilling to solve a case." She let him think about that for a few seconds, then went on.

"If Weller understands that the _only_ way to solve the case is to talk to Jane, then I really think that he'll talk to Jane. He won't _like_ it, he won't _want_ to, but I think in the end, he'll do it. He's always been _much_ too committed to his job to let anything stop him from solving a case. Even _himself."_ Patterson stopped, crossed her arms, and let the other two digest what she'd said. She just _knew_ that she was right.

She _had to be_.

Slowly, the look of skepticism fell away from the faces looking back at her. Zapata even nodded at her, smiling slightly. Reade's expression bordered on hostile, as if he didn't want to admit that he agreed that it was possible.

"I guess there's only one thing left to do, then," Zapata said, hope creeping into her voice. "Let's go tell Weller that he's going to talk to Jane."

"Just don't stand too close to him when you say it," Reade advised sarcastically. _He_ certainly wasn't going to be the one to tell Weller this news. "I'm not too sure how he's going to react." Nodding in agreement, the others also tried to imagine how Weller would react to this news. It likely wouldn't be pretty.

The three of them headed for Kurt's office, hoping that his mood had improved since the last time they'd seen him. This would be… interesting.


	9. Maybe Tomorrow

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

THE TEAM

The talk with Weller was not going well so far.

Reade, Zapata and Patterson sat in Kurt's office, the two women looking back at him anxiously while Reade's face was conflicted. They'd gone in together, none of them wanting to present the idea alone. They all loved Kurt like a brother and knew that he always had their backs, but an angry Kurt Weller was not something any of them wanted to face alone, if given the choice.

Patterson and Zapata had just finished explaining to him what Jane had said, and Kurt looked pissed. They had watched his jaw clench immediately, his face flushing slightly. It was clear that he was working hard to control his reaction, but his hands were balled up into fists before he knew it, and one of them pounded on his desk in frustration. He turned his head to look away from his team, toward the far side of the room, then closed his eyes and pursed his lips, taking a slow, deep breath.

In his head, Kurt counted to ten. Then twenty. Then thirty. He vowed to himself that he would not lose his temper.

When he finally opened his eyes and looked back at them, they saw barely controlled anger in his face. He shook his head slowly. "I told you," he said in a low voice, "I'm done with her."

Reade wasn't surprised, and waited for the onslaught of emotional pleas from Zapata and Patterson. He only had to wait a split second before they began.

"But, _Weller_ …" Zapata was faster this time. "You… you have to at least _talk_ to her. She obviously knows _something_ , which is more than we know. This whole time we've been chasing our tails, just going in circles. We have a source right down the hall…" Zapata didn't think of Jane as a source, of course, but she had to get Weller in to talk to her _somehow_. Everything was riding on him.

"Weller… _please,"_ Patterson added. She had nothing concrete to add to what Zapata had said, at least not that she could think of just then, but she couldn't just sit there and say nothing. He just _had_ to agree. It was that simple. Despite what she'd promised herself, she could feel tears forming behind her eyes. She'd never considered the fact that he would just refuse to talk to her. They all knew that it was possible, but… would he really do that? Surely he wouldn't…

Kurt sighed heavily and looked from one of them to another. _How can I possibly put this into words, words that they'll understand? That they'll accept?_ he wondered in frustration.

"I don't know how to make you understand this," he started, as evenly as he could. He _knew_ that they had good intentions, even though right now they were seriously pissing him off. "Nothing she has to say matters. We can't trust _anything_ she says! She's not who she said she was. We don't know _who_ the hell she is! She _lied_ , lied to all of us. She was sent here by… I don't know who, to do I don't know what."

He took a quick breath, and then continued before either of them could protest again. "She's a _traitor_. And if that wasn't bad enough, she made me think that…" He paused then, overwhelmed. They _all_ knew what had been between Kurt and Jane. Hell, they'd all seen it before _he_ had. He simply couldn't bring himself to finish that sentence, so he started another. "She said she was _Taylor_ —" His voice cracked when he said the name of his childhood best friend who he now knew had been dead all these years that he'd been searching for her – including the past year that he had thought that he'd found her again. It was like she'd just died all over again each and every time he said her name.

Patterson, now unable to hold it in any longer, couldn't listen to Weller's excuses anymore. Her words quickly escalated, and she was yelling at him before she finished her first sentence. "No Weller, _**you**_ said she was Taylor! And _**I**_ said she was Taylor, thanks to a DNA test that was _clearly_ tampered with. You desperately _wanted_ her to be Taylor – which we understand. You _convinced_ her she was Taylor. And she lo—" She stopped herself, wondering how easily the others could complete her sentence. _And she loved_ you _, so she tried to_ _ **be**_ _Taylor, for_ _ **you,**_ she'd wanted to say. But she wasn't sure that would help their case just then. That part had just slipped out.

Her voice was shaky now, but she was determined to finish speaking her mind. She was so angry with Kurt at that moment, she couldn't catch her breath. "You made her _want_ to be Taylor. _For_ _ **you**_. The least you could do is not hold that against her." Then suddenly, without warning, Patterson looked stricken, as if something had just occurred to her that had caused her pain. "You don't know how lucky you are to have this chance," he told him, almost beside herself. "I'd give _anything_ to have the chance to fix my mistakes." Her voice broke on the last few words, and more than one tear slid down her cheek. They all knew without her saying so that she was talking about David.

With that, Patterson stormed out of the room blindly, nearly colliding with an unsuspecting junior agent who had happened to be passing Kurt's office. There was a momentary commotion outside the door as the others sat perfectly still, dumbfounded at what had just happened, while Patterson helped the young agent pick up the documents he had dropped and then each continued on their way in opposite directions down the hall. Patterson's footprints beat an angry path down the hall and quickly disappeared.

Kurt looked at Zapata, eyes blazing. The fact that he didn't lose his temper easily was a point of pride with him, but he was close just then. He noticed that Zapata appeared to be at the opposite end of the spectrum of emotions of Patterson. She'd appeared angry when he'd first said no, but now she looked sad. Instead of blowing up at his as well, she simply watched him, and after several minutes he became impatient.

"Spit it out, Zapata," he told her bitterly. "Go ahead and tell me why this is all _my_ fault. Why Jane being a traitor doesn't matter and I should just forget everything she did, all the ways she betrayed me. Betrayed _us_."

Zapata shook her head sadly, standing up and walking slowly up to his desk. When she spoke, there was something in her voice that he hadn't expected. It was… kindness. He had expected her to attack him, the way Patterson had.

"Weller," Zapata said with a sad smile, "I _know_ that you feel betrayed. I don't claim to know what happened with Jane. It's pretty clear that she did _something_ wrong, or I don't think she would've stayed silent for the past five days. But whatever it is she wants to tell you, don't you think you can forget for a second how you feel like she wronged you and just listen to her? Patterson's _not_ wrong, you know. You – _we_ – helped her become Taylor. She may be in the wrong, but we are, too. Not intentionally, but that doesn't change our part in it."

Kurt looked back at her defiantly, ready to argue, but she continued before he had a chance. "Would she have said she was Taylor without being told so many times that she _was_? We'll never know. What I do know is that if you _don't_ hear her out, it'll be about a thousand times harder to figure out what happened, for one thing. And I know," she paused, hoping that he was really hearing what she was saying and not just waiting for her to stop talking, "that eventually, if you _don't_ talk to her, you'll hate yourself. Even if you don't think so, _I_ know you will."

He wanted to hate _her_ for what she was saying now, and he wanted her to be wrong… but he took Zapata's words to heart because he knew that she was right, as much as he didn't want her to be. He knew that Zapata had impeccable instincts – it was what made her such a good agent. He also knew that no matter what he said, Zapata always had his best interests at heart.

Come to think of it, though perhaps her approach had been wrong, he knew that Patterson did, too. _You trust these people with your life again and again_ , he reminded himself. _Hell, you've trusted_ _ **Jane**_ _with your life. She_ _ **saved**_ _your life back when she had no reason to, and many times since then. Taylor or not, she saved your life. Traitor or not._

 _But… what if it was all a trick?_

Zapata could see his expression changing before her eyes, and for a second there was a faraway look on his face, as though he was somewhere else. She hoped that it meant that she was getting through to him.

"Weller," she said, bringing him back to reality, "I told you a long time ago, she wasn't just an asset to you, back when the rest of us could all see it but you. And I stand by that. You weren't just a handler or a mark or any _one_ thing to her, either. You want to tell yourself that it was all a lie, because it's easier that way, but I'm telling you, there's more to this. I just know it. I've seen the way she looked at you, and it was _real_." She stopped for a second, gathering her thoughts.

"We're not cartoon characters, and life isn't simple. It's not just black and white, good and evil. Besides, what's that thing you like to say?" She glanced away from him for a second as she thought, but then looked directly back into his eyes. 'We are more than our mistakes?' Something like that. We've all made plenty. And maybe hers are bigger, but… Just… think about it. Okay?"

Kurt sat looking up at Zapata, unable to reply. There were too many thoughts at war with each other inside his head just then, and words wouldn't come, so he just nodded up at her. She smiled at him then, walked around his desk and patted him on the shoulder without a word, then walked past him and out of his office, not looking back. He could be an idiot, but he was one of the most decent guys she knew, and she hoped that he would do the right thing.

Kurt and Reade were left looking at each other from across Kurt's desk. "What do _you_ think?" Kurt asked him finally, suddenly exhausted.

"I don't know, man," Reade replied, shaking his head. "I'm the last one to defend her. I feel like I should've been _more_ suspicious of her in the first place. Then maybe none of this would've happened…" Reade hung his head slightly, and Kurt suddenly realized that his agent blamed himself for Kurt's current predicament.

"This is _not_ on you, man," Kurt said seriously. "This is all on me."

"I think that's another one of those absolutes that doesn't apply, though…" Reade replied. "And we can play 'Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda' all day, it won't help." He paused, and Kurt could sense that there was a "but" coming.

"But you want answers – no, you _need_ answers. Did she lie to you, to us? It does look that way, yeah – so she lied about _something_ , maybe a bunch of stuff... But do you really think it was _all_ a lie? I don't claim to know her as well as you, and I'm pissed at her too. Being around her messed with your head, whether she did it on purpose or not. But the odds that _all of it_ was a lie?" Reade stopped, looking genuinely confused, and shook his head.

"I just don't know. Is it possible? Sure. But is it _likely…?_ I think she's mixed up in _something_ , whether by choice or not, and the simplest way to find out about that something is to listen to her. There'll be truth in there, _somewhere_ … And even if she does lie again, you'll find the truth one way or the other. It's what makes you so damn good at your job."

Kurt looked like he was going to say something, but Reade just shrugged and added, "I can't tell you what the right thing to do is, because I don't even know anymore…" He shook his head slowly, then he echoed Zapata's words from a few minutes before. "Just think about it, okay?" Reade stood up then, and started towards the hall. However, he paused at the doorway and turned back to look at Kurt. "We all want the truth, and this isn't an easy one. We need to use every resource we have. And remember, no matter what, we've got your back."

"Thanks, man," Kurt managed to choke out. He was otherwise speechless, simply watching Reade disappearing through his doorway.

 _Dammit, Jane_ , he thought with a heavy sigh. He didn't know what he was going to do, but his team's feelings on the subject were pretty clear. _They want me to talk to her. But what do_ _ **I**_ _think is the right thing to do?_

JANE, PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

When Zapata left Reade and Weller in their boss' office, she went after Patterson. She had a strong hunch that she knew where she'd find her friend. Following the now familiar route, within minutes she did indeed find herself looking at Patterson, who was watching Jane through the windowed door of Interrogation Room 2. Walking up quietly behind the blonde, Zapata could see that she'd been crying again. She laid her hand on Patterson's shoulder, at which her friend turned towards her, and it was all Zapata could do to catch her in a hug so that the other girl didn't fall down.

"It's not fair," she sobbed into Zapata's shoulder. "It's not supposed to be like this. _None of it_. Not David, not Jane and Weller…"

"I know," Zapata said softly. After all, what else could she say? She gave her a few minutes, just standing still and holding onto her, until Patterson seemed to have calmed down.

"Sorry," Patterson whispered, stepping back and wiping her eyes. She looked into the room at Jane, in her usual spot on the floor.

"Don't be sorry," Zapata told her. Then, hoping to change the tone of the conversation and distract Patterson from her heartache, Zapata looked first at Jane and then back at Patterson before asking, "We're going in there, right?"

Patterson nodded slowly, smiling through the tears that she was still trying to stop from falling. _Of course we're going in_ , she thought.

Patterson unlocked the door and the two went in for the first time together, smiling when Jane looked up and seemed surprised to see both of them there at the same time. Jane said nothing, however, just looked from one of them to the other, confusion fading and her face simply blank. Without a word, Patterson slid down the wall to sit on Jane's left, and Zapata took a seat against the wall on her right, settling themselves close to their friend. All three of them stared at the table ahead of them and the wall beyond it, and no one spoke for a few minutes.

While Jane still wasn't going to tell these two anything, it wasn't because she didn't want to. The fact that they'd been sitting by her every single day, despite having no proof whatsoever that she wasn't a traitor, and had tried so hard to help her when she didn't even want to help herself left her stunned. There were no words for how she felt about her two friends, or how lost she would have been without them – especially right now. She wanted to tell them just that, but somehow she couldn't speak, even now that she wanted to. The lump in her throat wouldn't allow it.

"We told him, Jane," Zapata said quietly, fidgeting with her hands in front of her.

"I yelled at him," Patterson added, chuckling softly at her earlier behavior. Jane turned and looked at her in surprise. "I couldn't help it," she said sheepishly. "He was being stupid."

"He was being Weller," Zapata added, as Jane turned to look at her next. "He's got his head all twisted up right now. I think he'll come down here… he just needs time to sort things out for himself." After a pause, she added, "But Patterson and I made a damn good case on your behalf. Good cop, bad cop, too." Zapata's eyes sparkled as the other two turned to look at her. "Wanna guess who was who?"

Before Jane could say anything, Patterson blurted out, "Oh my gosh! Was I the bad cop?" She looked embarrassed, and yet… proud at the same time.

"Sorry you missed my inspirational speech, _both of you_ ," Zapata smiled at them, then said, for Jane's benefit, "Patterson got a little agitated and ran out of the room before she could hear my good cop routine." Then, to both of them, she added, "I make an excellent 'good cop,' if I do say so myself."

Jane smiled a tiny bit at her friends' attempts at levity, but looked straight ahead, knowing that her thoughts showed clearly on her face, despite her best intentions. She felt tears dangerously close to forming just then. The thought that Kurt might never come and let her explain was simply unbearable. If he listened to her and didn't forgive her, well, that was one thing. But if she never even got to tell her side of the story? It was a thought that made her feel desperate with panic. _He has to give me a chance to explain._

As if reading her mind, Zapata whispered, "It's gonna be okay, Jane."

"I don't deserve you guys," Jane replied in the same whisper, tears now gathering in her eyes as she shook her head quickly.

"That's where you're wrong," Patterson replied, having regained her composure. "But it doesn't matter, because you've got us anyway."

They all chuckled quietly and then fell silent. No other words were necessary.

KURT

He was pacing the office that he still thought of as Mayfair's, constantly having to correct himself and remember that it was now _his_ office, ever since being given the promotion that he hadn't been allowed to refuse. Walking usually helped him think, but right now all it was making him do was to wonder if he was going to wear a hole in the carpet from all the pacing he was doing.

Thinking straight was impossible. Each time he tried to sort out his thoughts, he ended up with a jumble of emotions and a bad headache. Surely, there must be a way to figure this out. After all, he'd solved _far_ more complex cases… and yet, try as he might to integrate his team's arguments into his consciousness, his mind resisted them.

" _No Weller,_ _ **you**_ _said she was Taylor! And_ _ **I**_ _said she was Taylor, thanks to a DNA test that was clearly tampered with. You wanted her to be Taylor. You convinced her she was Taylor. And she lo—"_ She _what_? He wondered if his guess about she'd wanted to say was right.

" _You made her want to be Taylor. For_ _ **you**_ _. The least you could do is not hold that against her…"_ This one was hard to swallow, and his mind resisted it stubbornly. _She said she remembered being Taylor,_ he insisted to himself. " _You – we – helped her become Taylor. She may be in the wrong, but we are, too. Not intentionally, but that doesn't change anything."_ He swallowed hard and pushed the thought away.

" _You don't know how lucky you are to have this chance… I'd give anything to have the chance to fix my mistakes."_ Hearing Patterson say this again and again in his head made him angry. _I'm not the one who needs to fix my mistakes!_ he wanted to scream.

 _No, it isn't you. It's her,_ the voice in his head replied. _And she's trying. So stop being so goddamn stubborn and talk to her._

" _I know that you feel betrayed. I don't claim to know what happened with Jane. It's pretty clear that she did something wrong, or I don't think she would've stayed silent for the past five days. But whatever it is she wants to tell you, don't you think you can forget for a second how you feel like she wronged you and just listen to her?"_ Could he? He honestly wasn't sure.

" _I know that eventually, if you don't talk to her you'll hate yourself. Even if you don't think so, I know you will."_ He tried to look at himself as an outsider, the way the rest of the team saw him. Despite the fact that he fought hard for others, he was always hard on himself. That much was obvious from the twenty-five years that he'd spent punishing himself for the loss of his best friend.

 _If I miss my chance, and I never get another one, would I be okay with that?_ He just couldn't be sure. After all, _never_ was a very long time. He was still too emotional to make a logical decision at that moment, he decided – just thinking the name 'Taylor Shaw' was enough to stop him from thinking clearly.

" _We can play 'Coulda, Shoulda, Woulda' all day. But you want answers – no, you_ _ **need**_ _answers. Did she lie to you, to us? It does look that way, yeah – about something, maybe a bunch of stuff... But do you really think it was_ _ **all**_ _a lie?"_ Did he **really** think that, or was that his wounded pride and anger talking?Was it really that much easier to believe that if she'd lied about everything than to believe that she'd lied about one thing? Wasn't it even _possible_ that some of it had been the truth?

" _The odds that all of it was a lie? I just don't know. I think she's mixed up in something, whether by choice or not, and the simplest way to find out about that something is to listen to her."_

 _You don't even have to_ _ **say**_ _anything if you don't want to!_ he reminded himself. _If she wants to talk that badly, maybe you should let her talk…_ But he was still so very angry…

" _There'll be truth in there, somewhere, even if she does lie again. And you'll find the truth one way or the other. It's what makes you so damn good at your job."_ Would he be able to tell if she lied to him again? Or would he just be sucked back in by whatever lie she told next, because he wanted to believe her? _Did_ he want to believe her? Why were his instincts so finely tuned in every part of his job, except when it came to Jane?

 _You know why, stupid._

He ignored that particular voice in his head. That thought was too dangerous, and he wouldn't let himself even think it. He couldn't afford to let himself go there. The fall was too far.

Back and forth he walked across his office, again and again. Some of the time when he walked away from his door, he started to think that maybe he should go down and see Jane and let her say whatever it was she wanted to say. This urge lasted all of two or three seconds, and invariably every time he turned back towards the door to walk the length of his office in the other direction, he'd changed his mind. Sometimes the urge to go and see her came every few minutes, sometimes it didn't come again for an hour or more.

Reade walked by Kurt's doorway a few hours later, pausing when he saw him still pacing back and forth. "Hey," Reade said, leaning against the doorframe, "have you been pacing your office _all afternoon?_ " He'd seen him doing it earlier, as well.

Kurt stopped, ran his hand through his hair and then rubbed it across his face. Damn, but he was tired. "I don't even know. Just trying to… make sense of things."

Reade nodded sympathetically. "You seen Zapata or Patterson?" he asked curiously.

Kurt gritted his teeth and shook his head. "Not since I nearly had my head taken off earlier," he replied. "Why?"

"Just wondering. I'm sure they're around here somewhere."

"Yeah, plotting my demise," Kurt sighed, forcing himself to smile despite the stress he was under. It had been a joke, though come to think of it… where _were_ those two, anyway?

Checking his watch, Kurt realized that it had, indeed, been hours since he'd been pacing the floor in his office. Feeling like a coward but unable to deal with seeing Jane, at least just then, he started gathering his things. He needed to get out of the office, and it was nearly six o'clock. He wasn't going to get anything else accomplished that day. What he desperately needed was sleep.

"You takin' off?" Reade asked, checking his watch. None of them had left this early in quite a while, and he was contemplating doing the same thing. Eating dinner at actual _dinner time_ was a novelty he didn't get to enjoy too often.

"Yeah, I think so," Weller said tiredly. "I'm beat."

Reade just nodded, but remained in his doorway. Hesitantly, he asked, "Did you…" but stopped when Kurt looked up at him.

Weller shook his head quickly. "Nah. I… Not yet."

Reade nodded. It wasn't up to him to tell Weller what to do. For whatever reason, he did want him to talk to Jane, possibly just because he was burning with curiosity to see what she had to say by way of explanation, and how far-fetched it would sound. He couldn't begin to guess whether it was better for him to talk to her or not.

"Alright, I'll see you tomorrow, man," Reade said, turning and heading for the locker room. Weller nodded back at him as Reade disappeared around the corner, as Kurt picked up his jacket and headed for the parking garage.

 _Maybe tomorrow,_ he told himself. _I'm not ready today._

JANE, PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

The three women sat on the floor beside each other for what could have been hours. At one point Patterson started to feel sleepy. It had been an emotional day, after all, and she was exhausted. She felt her eyes closing and yet, she had no desire to leave. Never mind that she and Zapata were supposed to be working. Jane needed them. She'd like to see Weller give her a hard time about _that_ right now.

Jane felt something on her shoulder and she looked over at Patterson, who was in the process of falling asleep on her left shoulder. Patterson was adorable just then, Jane couldn't help but think. Knowing that sooner than later, she'd be alone and back in her cell, she didn't mind at all. Zapata glanced over to see what Jane was looking at, and she smiled too. It would be a shame to disturb her when they had to go.

Just then, the door clicked open loudly and two men in dark uniforms, ear pieces in their ears, stepped into the room. By this point, Jane was familiar with them, and she knew from her presence that it was time to go back to her cell. She sighed and shook Patterson, who still hadn't woken up despite the noise. Zapata helped a sleepy Patterson to her feet while Jane stood and nodded at the two men.

Before she approached them, however, she turned back to her friends. "Thank you both so much," she said gratefully. Still, from her expression Zapata could tell that she was disappointed not to have seen Weller yet.

"Give him time, Jane," she told her. "I know, it's easy for me to say when you're in here, but you know Weller, he's stubborn. Like _you._ Just one of _many_ things you have in common."

Jane couldn't help but smile, knowing it was the truth, even though the waiting was maddeningly frustrating.

"We'll see you tomorrow," Patterson promised, and Jane just nodded, her smile disappearing as she turned to go with the guards, her head down.

Patterson and Zapata stood and watched her go, once again sad for their friend and frustrated with Weller for not having made an appearance yet. There was nothing else to do but make their way back to the locker room to collect their own things, since it had gotten late quickly while they'd sat with Jane. No doubt Weller and Reade were already gone for the day.

A few minutes later, as they stood at their respective lockers and gathered their things to leave, Patterson paused and looked seriously at Zapata. "Do you really think Weller will give her a chance to explain?"

Zapata's expression changed and she looked worried, though she tried to look like she was considering the question. "I don't know. I mean, I like to think so…" She was worried about the same thing, but she didn't want to admit it out loud. "And he has to know that the longer he _doesn't_ talk to her, the more he's going to have to deal with _us…_ " Patterson smiled slightly at Zapata's joke. It was the truth that they would give him a hard time if he stayed away from Jane, but in the end, they couldn't force him to listen to her. Ultimately, it would be up to him.

"Maybe tomorrow," Patterson said hopefully, though it wasn't clear whether it was more directed at Zapata or to reassuring herself.

"Yeah, maybe tomorrow," Zapata echoed as she followed her friend out of the locker room.

They could only hope.


	10. Make It Stop

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

KURT

It was Friday, and it had been a long damn week. The rest of the team had cornered Kurt in his office and made their feelings known on Tuesday, and the days since then had dragged by even more slowly than the previous five, when he'd just been angry – with Jane, and with the world in general. He felt perfectly justified in being angry after everything he'd been through. Maybe she wasn't responsible for all of it, but she was responsible for enough of it that he couldn't help channeling his anger towards her.

Since Tuesday, however, the situation had gotten even worse, at least as far as he was concerned, because he was still angry, but now he was conflicted on top of it. He had known that he was angry at Jane, but he had only just figured out that he was also angry at himself for being angry at her, and for not going down to talk to her. He was even angry and frustrated that he was angry at himself, because goddammit did he have the right to be angry at her after what she'd done? It seemed that he was caught in a spiral that he simply couldn't break out of.

So if he wanted to do something about the whole stupid mess, instead of just continuing to stew about it, then what was stopping him from hearing Jane out? Stubbornness? Maybe. Or hurt. Or betrayal. Or… fear?

 _But why would I be afraid?_ he wondered. That didn't make any sense, because he certainly wasn't afraid of _her_ – as tough as she was.

Of course, the voice in his head could clear that right up for him. _Not afraid of_ _ **her**_ _, stupid. You're afraid because you are, and always have been, each other's weak point. Each other's blind spot. The one exception to all of your other rules that you've made throughout your life to protect yourself. They never applied to her. No matter how high you build the walls around yourself, somehow she opens a door through them that you never knew was there. So now you want to tell yourself it was all a lie – it's easier that way. But you're afraid that it wasn't_ _ **all**_ _a lie after all. Because if some of it's true and some of it's a lie… that's messy, and you don't like messy. And then you have to figure out which is which. And you'd have to admit to yourself that you_ _ **do**_ _care about her._

 _For example, let's say for the sake of argument she lied on purpose about being Taylor_ (he silenced Patterson and Zapata's voices of protest in his head that immediately started shrieking, telling the two women who weren't even physically there that it was _just_ an example). _So if she was lying about_ _being Taylor then it becomes harder to believe anything else she said, or to believe that her feelings for him were real… what then? Or, if she_ _ **didn't**_ _lie about thinking she was Taylor – if she really believed it – but instead she had been sent to him for some_ _ **other**_ _reason by who knows who, and she lied about her feelings for him because it furthered her mission_ … _was that better, or was it worse?_ Not that she had articulated them, exactly, but her eyes, like his, had said plenty on many occasions.

There were too many possible scenarios that ended up pretty much the same. There were too many things that she could have done that he was almost certain that he couldn't forgive. Or that made it hard enough to trust her again, that he wouldn't be able to believe anything she said no matter what.

So back to his original question: _What am I afraid of_? He'd finally realized, after 4 days of stewing, that he was just as afraid that everything _hadn't_ been a lie as he was that it _had_ , because how in the world would he be able to know for sure? How would he know the right thing to do with all this? Despite everyone's apparent confidence in him to figure out the truth, he himself didn't have that confidence in his own ability to see through her lies, he now realized.

This, of course, brought him full circle back to anger, because he didn't want to be afraid. In all of the many cases over the years in which he'd had a gun pointed at him or his life had been otherwise threatened, he wouldn't say that he'd been afraid. He hadn't enjoyed it, obviously, but in each of those cases, he felt a certain sense of control, as crazy as it sounded, because for better or worse, he knew the protocol of the situation. It didn't always work as planned, of course, but he knew what he was supposed to do, and he knew how to improvise, thanks to his training. But this? What the hell was he supposed to do in this situation?

There'd been a lot of time spent pacing the floor of his office this week, and he'd gotten more than his share of silent, menacing glares from Zapata and Patterson because he had avoided talking to Jane. He'd known that they would react that way, but he had accepted it as inevitable. He'd ducked as many of their looks as he could, feeling guilty every time. They were right to give him a hard time, he knew, and yet… he just couldn't bring himself to march down there and be in the same room with Jane and just get it over with. Hell, he could still barely convince himself to think her name or allow himself to picture her face without feeling himself tense all over. No, he was still just too angry.

He'd gotten close, once, a few days ago. The rest of his team had headed down to the workroom where they were trying to assemble the details of the case without Mr. Nice Guy's prying eyes on them, so he knew they'd be occupied for at least a little while – he hadn't wanted to be discovered going to or from interrogation, in case he lost his nerve. He'd managed to get himself all the way down there, where he'd leaned against the wall with the doors to rooms 1 and 2 and their adjacent monitoring rooms to his right, and waited… waited to be ready, then forced himself to move closer.

He'd managed to get himself close enough to the room Jane was in to see her there, sitting on the floor pushed up against the wall, hugging her knees to her chest. After that first day she'd been arrested, they'd put her in room 2 at his insistence, though he didn't know whether it was for her benefit, or his, or both. It was stupid, he knew, because the rooms were nearly identical… but there had been something about seeing her in the same room that he'd seen her in the first day they'd met… it was simply too much.

There, outside the interrogation room door, was when he'd frozen in place – panicked – and had turned away, suddenly unable to be there any longer. _I'm not ready_ , he'd thought as he'd walked quickly back to his office and paced for hours, like he had nearly every day that week. He hadn't said a word about it to anyone. The only people who would have known about his failed attempt would be the agents monitoring the security cameras, if anyone had been watching at the time.

That had been several days ago, and ever since then, he'd been simultaneously beating himself up for running away and defending his decision to do so – though only to himself. He kept repeating to himself that he wasn't ready to talk to her, to the point where it had almost become a mantra. It was exhausting. And yet, he kept doing it.

JANE

It was Friday – not that it mattered. Every day of the week was the same to her. Every day she woke up in a tiny, dark cell, was given a tray of food from which she barely ate anything, having long since lost her appetite, and then sat pushed into the corner, attempting to make herself disappear from existence, until the guards came to take her to the interrogation room. There, they would lock her in and she would sit in the same spot on the floor as the day before, knees pulled up to her chest and her arms around them tightly, her head down, until the Bureau's interrogators came in to ask the same questions they asked her every single day. And each day, just like the day before, she kept her head down and said nothing.

Every day, after they'd asked her the same five hundred or so variations of the same ten questions, with increasing hostility and frustration as the days wore on, and had spoken to her sternly about cooperating, they would give up in frustration and leave her there. Finally, she was alone in the silence once more. Of course, as soon as the silence descended around her it became not a relief but a prison all its own, pounding in her ears and threatening to crush her with its weight.

Only in this crushing silence would she finally raise her head and sigh, wondering how long she could do this, how many more times she would have to endure it. How many times she _could_ endure it before she lost her mind. Or did it even matter? Did _any_ of it matter? What was the point, if she was never going to get a chance to explain? And even if she did, the things that she'd done… there would be no coming back from it.

So maybe it didn't matter that Kurt wasn't going to talk to her after all, despite her offer to talk only to him. She'd been hoping against hope anyway, she realized sadly, trying to exercise the tiniest bit of control over a situation that had long since spiraled completely and totally out of her control. Who had she been kidding to think that he'd even give her a chance? She realized all over again that she didn't deserve another chance, and she suddenly felt as though the air was being squeezed from her lungs.

The guards set another tray of food on the table in the interrogation room at some point, but she didn't even hear them come in or go out, despite the fact that the door didn't open quietly. She supposed maybe she'd fallen asleep with her head down on her knees. Or maybe she just didn't care enough about what was happening around her to even listen anymore. In the end, like all the rest of it, it didn't matter.

JANE, ZAPATA AND PATTERSON

Midway through the afternoon, Zapata and Patterson stopped by to see her, as they did every day, finding her in the same spot on the floor as always. Their arrival was the only small ray of hope she had left. Each time one or both of them arrived, it surprised her. She was so despondent that she would not have been surprised if one day even they stopped coming by and just went back to their lives. It wasn't that she didn't think they were loyal friends, it was just that she felt completely more undeserving of their support than ever. Someone who had done the terrible things that she'd done didn't _deserve_ loyal friends, no matter how much she wanted to cling to them and never let go.

They looked down at her questioningly, not needing any words to ask the one thing on their minds, but Jane simply shook her head sadly, looking down at the floor. As they'd done each time they'd come to see her together, which had happened a few times that week, they sat down without a word, one on each side of her – as if by doing so, they could protect her from an unseen enemy.

After they'd sat there quietly for quite a while, Patterson suddenly leaned forward and looked past Jane at Zapata. That look was in her eyes again… the one that had been there when she'd yelled at Kurt a few days before. That had been the last time she'd spoken to him, in fact. "Zapata, we need to do something," she said quietly. After sitting in the quiet for so long, it felt wrong to talk any louder than necessary, even as upset as she was. Jane looked from Patterson to Zapata in surprise, seeing Zapata nod in agreement.

"You're right," the brunette agreed. "I'm done waiting on Weller." They stared at each other for a few seconds, as if passing some message back and forth telepathically, before Zapata spoke again.

"Are you thinking what I'm thinking, Patterson?" The blonde nodded as her mouth curled into a small, mischievous smile.

"Good. Let's do it!" Zapata replied, suddenly looking much more animated that Jane had seen her all week.

The two stood up suddenly, leaving Jane sitting on the floor and despite the unexpected energy in the air, feeling even more powerless than usual. She hated that she needed her friends to fight her battles for her. At the same time, she felt a rush of gratitude for these two women whose friendship she knew that she didn't deserve. She smiled at them weakly, but didn't say a word. She wanted to know what they were up to, but much more than that, she desperately wanted to be part of it. Since she couldn't, she just sat sadly and watched them, curious about what they would tell her.

"We'll be back soon," Zapata promised. "And this time, Weller's coming with us. Whether he likes it or _not._ "

 _I hope so_ , Jane thought, though even as she did, she feared that it would all be for nothing. As much as she hated this limbo she'd been in for the past nine days, she was also afraid of what would happen when he finally showed up. There were still ways that it could get worse, after all.

The door clicked behind them, and Jane put her head back down onto her knees, wishing with everything inside her that she could just disappear, and stop being such a problem for everyone around her.

KURT

It was late on Friday afternoon and he was actually sitting at his desk, for once, pouring over what little evidence they had – photos, mostly – from the scene where Mayfair had been found. There were still very large holes in what they knew, and it was making it pretty much impossible to get anywhere. He knew they needed more intel, and, well, he knew what he needed to do, he just hadn't been able to bring himself to do it.

Besides, he'd rationalized to himself, they had no reason to believe that Mayfair's death was related to Jane. As angry as he was with her, he couldn't even begin to fathom the possibility. Either way, it was probably naïve, even stupid, to think that Jane could give them useful intel. How could they believe that anything she would tell them would be the truth, after all? Still, it would be somewhere to start, which would put them farther ahead of where they were so far – which was nowhere.

KURT, ZAPATA AND PATTERSON

A loud knock disturbed the silence of his office and he looked up, startled, to see a stern looking Zapata in his doorway, and an equally stern looking Patterson standing just behind her in the hall.

"Enough is enough, Weller," Zapata said, her face showing none of the softness or understanding that she'd shown him the last time they'd talked. "Let's go." Even Patterson, whose default look was normally a smile, showed no trace of one. Kurt sighed heavily, rubbed his eyes and shook his head as the two women walked into his office and approached his desk. He knew they meant well, and he knew that it was time… and yet, there he still sat.

 _Can't they just leave me alone?_ he wondered, feeling more exhausted by just the idea of talking to Jane. _I'll go first thing on Monday. I just need the weekend to get my head on straight…_ Of course, he only said this in his head. It didn't matter, though, because Zapata and Patterson were not in the mood to be argued with. Monday was not an option. It was going to be _now._

"I'm serious, Weller. Right now." The look in Zapata's eyes left no doubt that she meant it. Of course, technically Kurt was _her_ boss, and not the other way around. However, this was different. She couldn't have him fired for not doing what she said, but she knew him well enough to know that in this particular case he was being extra stubborn, and that marching into his office and ordering him to listen to her was what it was going to take to get him to do the right thing. She knew that he knew very well that he _should_ have talked to Jane by now – and that he knew that he _had to_ do it because it was simply the right thing to do. As many issues as he might have, Kurt Weller was a guy who could not help but do the right thing. This time he just needed some help.

"Zapata, I just need—" he started.

But Zapata was having none of it. "You've had plenty of time to think. And you and I both know that you've been thinking _too much_ ," Zapata replied, a feeling of satisfaction filling her when she saw the look of surprise on her boss' face. _He's too easy to read sometimes,_ she thought. "Now it's time to act, not think."

"This isn't just about you, you know," Patterson added from beside Zapata. She'd been so quiet, Kurt had almost forgotten that she was there. It was the first he'd seen of her since she'd yelled at him and stormed out of his office on Tuesday, and he was pretty sure she'd been avoiding him on purpose since then. In the four days since, he'd only seen the back of her, except for the occasional angry glare, of course, as she hurried on her way here or there. Her tone turned bitter as she added, "You're not the only one who's hurting… and yet, you're the one who gets to have all the power." When he didn't answer, she added, " _And_ you get to go home and sleep in your own bed at night."

Patterson watched with a deep feeling of satisfaction as her words sunk in. She could almost pinpoint the exact moment when Weller's predominant feeling moved from anger to guilt. That had been her goal – to make him understand exactly what he was doing to Jane. No matter how angry he was with her, Patterson had trouble believing that he actually wanted to _torture_ the woman he had so clearly been in love with only a few weeks ago. Though of course, she had to admit that still none of them knew exactly what Jane had done, and that it was not _impossible_ that what she might have to say might make a difference to how they felt about her. However, Patterson steadfastly refused to believe that Jane could have done anything that would make her unworthy of their forgiveness, and she would simply not be convinced otherwise.

Of course, Kurt knew that Patterson had been hinting blatantly to the fact that Jane was shuffled back and forth from a cell to a detention room and back again, day in and day out, having to wait until he decided that he would let her talk to him. That she slept on a hard mattress in a small cell night after night. He _knew_ that. He knew that she would probably stay locked up like that indefinitely if she continued to refuse to talk to anyone else and if he continued to refuse to see her. He also knew that somewhere along the way, she had chosen to do things that had led her to be locked up here.

But knowing what he knew about what was happening to Jane, the question that he couldn't help but ask himself was… _Am I really that cruel_? He'd never thought so before, but now his behavior spoke otherwise.

 _She could talk to the interrogators or Borden any time she wanted to,_ he told himself to try to rationalize his own behavior. _All those other people have done nothing but try every damn day to get her to talk,_ he thought stubbornly. _She's doing this to herself._

 _That's a cop-out answer, and you_ _ **know**_ _it,_ the voice in his head replied. Technically he was right, of course, she _could_ talk to anyone if she decided to, but that didn't change the fact that to some degree, he was getting some kind of sick satisfaction from punishing her himself.

He looked back at the two women standing in front of him, now feeling defensive. Jane, Patterson and Zapata had long ago formed a strong bond, the likes of which Kurt had never seen before. He had been glad, at the time, since Jane had so many odds stacked against her. She had needed people in her corner. Now, however, these women's loyalty to Jane was slightly less endearing. Still, he wondered whether what Patterson said was true. As much as he'd been feeling like it, this wasn't only about him – or was it?

It all came back once again to whether or not Jane had lied, and how much, and about what, and… before he knew it, his hands were tightened into fists and his jaw was clenched yet again, as seemed to be an everyday occurrence these days, to his dismay. _This has to stop._

 _There's only one way to make it stop, and you know what that is_ , the voice in his head reminded him. _So Kurt Weller…_ _ **make it stop.**_

He wanted to strangle the rational voice in his head. He wanted to tell everyone to go to hell, including – or perhaps especially – Patterson and Zapata. He wanted to just wake up and realize that this had all been a terrible nightmare and that it was over.

 _And when you wake up from this nightmare, do you want Jane to be there, or for her to be gone for good, as if she'd never been here at all?_ the voice – who of course, he couldn't get rid of, since it was inside his head – asked calmly.

He closed his eyes and sighed heavily as his head dropped toward his chest. It wasn't clear to Zapata or Patterson what was going on with him, but something definitely was. It was as if he was fighting a war within himself.

 _Poor Weller,_ Zapata thought. _This is so hard on both of them._

As they continued to watch him, Kurt pushed his chair back and with great effort, lifted himself to his feet. Looking at Zapata and Patterson and already feeling exhausted, he simply nodded. "Fine," he said. It was almost as if he'd given up.

"Come on, Weller," Zapata told him in a voice that was suddenly devoid of its hard edge from a minute before, "let's go." Patterson said nothing else, didn't smile even a little bit, as Zapata did, just simply walked on the other side of him silently. He had a feeling that while Zapata seemed to understand the turmoil inside him and not hold it against him, at least not _too_ much, Patterson had taken his behavior almost as personally as if he'd done the things he'd done not only to Jane, but to her as well.

 _Women really don't make sense, sometimes_ , he thought fleetingly as he walked between the two.

He was pretty sure that he was going to have to make all this up to Patterson, no matter how things went with Jane… but that would have to wait for another time.

They started down the hall towards the interrogation rooms, the route that Zapata and Patterson could now walk in their sleep, each of them anxious about what was about to happen.

THE TEAM

Zapata and Patterson stopped behind Kurt as he approached the door to the interrogation room, watching him slowly unlock the door and even more slowly, walk inside. Glancing at each other without a word, they moved as quickly as they could to get to the adjacent room from which they could monitor what happened inside. There was no expectation that this would not be a private conversation – it really wasn't possible when you were in FBI custody. Besides, whatever she was going to say was going to be relevant to at least one, if not two cases.

When the two women entered the darkened room with the monitors, they were surprised to find Reade already there. Patterson's eyes went immediately to the screens, while Zapata looked at her partner curiously, arching her eyebrows in surprise.

"What? You think I'd miss this?" he asked. "Thanks for inviting me to the party, by the way," he added, pretending to be offended that she and Patterson hadn't let him know what was going on.

She ignored his mock indignation, knowing better than to think he was bothered. "Apparently that wasn't necessary," Zapata replied distractedly, sitting down. They both turned to watch the monitors to see what would happen.

Back in the other room, Kurt walked slowly to the table, his heavy footsteps echoing through the silent room. Equally slowly, he pulled out a chair, which scraped loudly against the floor and then creaked as he sat down on it. He sat there and looked at her on the floor across the room, saying nothing. She hadn't moved.

Jane knew who had entered the room without lifting her head. Every one of her muscles was tense, even ones she hadn't known could _be_ tense. Even if Patterson and Zapata hadn't told her that they were going to bring him down to see her, she would have known that it was him. She could smell the tiniest hint of his cologne, she recognized his footsteps, slow and tired though they had been... but besides those things, she just… _knew_. That part of it she couldn't explain.

She remained on the floor with her head down, frozen in place. She'd desperately wanted him to come and see her, and now that he had, she was terrified. She wasn't afraid of _him_ of course, despite the fact that his strength was greater than hers. They'd always been evenly matched sparring partners, because while he was stronger, her technique was better, faster.

No, she wasn't physically afraid of him, it was more that everything – _everything_ – that was important to her depended on this moment, on her ability to make him understand. And by everything that was important to her, she meant… _THEM_. The two of them. Jane and Kurt. She could simply not conceive of her life without him. She didn't _want_ to imagine it. Despite the flashes of her past life that she'd remembered, even her apparent engagement to Oscar, there was nothing else that _truly_ mattered to her besides Kurt. Those other memories, they had happened to someone else. Whoever she'd been, it wasn't her. She had that woman's memories, but she wasn't that woman. She was haunted by that woman and the choices she had made, which had come to dictate her reality, but she wasn't that woman.

And so now, knowing the stakes, she found that her muscles refused to respond to her brain's commands. His importance to her was so great, she'd done the one thing that she would have sworn that she would _never_ have done – she had betrayed her team. She'd betrayed _him_ – because it had been the only way to keep him alive… at least, that had been what she'd been told, and she hadn't been willing to take the chance.

It had been worth it, of course, because she could never have lived with herself if something had happened to Kurt that she could have prevented, but the price had been tremendous. In order to save him, she'd had to lose him anyway.

She knew that the chances of being forgiven were slim to none, and she felt as though her chances of forgiving _herself_ were possibly even less… but her only chance to try was now staring her in the face. Or, it would be as soon as she lifted her head.

He wasn't sure what he'd been expecting to see in her face, not having looked at her since the night he'd arrested her. He wasn't sure how long he was prepared to sit and wait for her to do something, to say something, before he stood up and walked out – though he was fairly sure that Zapata and Patterson would bar the door and keep him in that room by force, if necessary, until Jane had had a chance to talk. So he sat and continued to look at her, noticing that she was sitting absolutely, perfectly still, except for the sound of her breathing, which was faster than usual. The tension in the air between the two of them was palpable, even without eye contact between them.

 _Look at him_ , she ordered herself. _**Look at him.**_

She couldn't do it, though she knew that she had to. _LOOK AT HIM._ The words rang in her head like thunder, so loudly that she wondered if he could hear the as well. _He's finally in the room with you, after more than a week of refusing to be here, so you'd better look at him_ _ **right now**_ _. Stop being a goddamn coward and open your eyes. Looking at him is the_ _ **easy**_ _part, after all. After that, you have to talk._

Swallowing hard, she knew that the voice in her head, while slightly abusive, was right. This was the easy part. And so she took a deep breath, clenched her fists tightly against the storm of emotions she felt, and reminded herself that just like what she had already done, what she had to do next was worth it. No matter _what_ the cost to herself, he deserved to know the truth. And if she didn't do what she knew to be right, then she was no better than any of the shadowy figures who'd emerged from her past and killed so many people to achieve their goals.

 _Their goals may have been noble as well_ , the voice in her head piped up, but she pushed it aside. This was not the time to make excuses for the people who had ruined everything for her.

He was beginning to wonder how long he would have to wait before she would acknowledge his presence, which was something he hadn't been expecting. The way Patterson and Zapata had framed the argument, he'd expected her to start talking the moment he walked in. Just then, however, he sensed a change in her. Her breathing changed, and she slowly lifted her head. For a second, he held his breath, not sure what to expect, and even his anger was momentarily forgotten, so great was his curiosity about what was about to happen.

Exhaling slowly, suddenly feeling as though she was watching herself from outside of her own body, she forced her head up and finally blinked her eyes open. She found herself staring directly into his eyes, and for a moment, it was almost as though a jolt of electric current shot between them.

Almost as if it happened in slow motion, he watched her open her eyes and was surprised at the intensity of the look staring back at him. He had managed to make himself forget the force of the emotion that was often held between them by their eyes alone. As had happened so many times before, he couldn't look away.

He was still sitting at the table, several feet away from her, and yet, to her surprise, she felt herself pushed, hard, up against the wall behind her by a force she couldn't see. Their eyes were locked on each other, but though she desperately wanted to, she couldn't read him. There was simply too much happening behind his eyes, like a dark storm cloud that revealed only that bad weather was imminent, but not exactly what kind.

They sat that way for several minutes, just starting at each other. In the other room, Reade, Zapata and Patterson stared at the monitors, not even realizing they were holding their breath, waiting for what came next.

Finally, after what felt like an eternity, Kurt broke the silence. "Jane…" he started, unsurely. "Come and sit at the table." His voice had come out more harshly than he'd intended, which he immediately regretted. He watched her face change then, and at first he was confused by her expression as she stared back at him. Then he realized what it was – she was afraid… afraid to come near him. He was wary of her as well, but he held up his hands to show that he meant her no harm and did his best to make his expression more neutral. He was still angry, but it was now so much more complicated than it had been the last time they'd been in the same room. After all, when he looked in her eyes, it was always more complicated.

Without a word, she stood up slowly and walked toward the table.

 _A/N: And now I have to figure out what Jane's actually going to tell Kurt… which is pretty daunting for me, because she doesn't just have one or two secrets… Looks like I have my work cut out for me, and lots of "research" (as in… rewatching). What can I say, life is hard! I hope you enjoyed this chapter, and I_ _ **promise**_ _, they'll actually talk to each other in the next chapter!_


	11. Taylor Shaw

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: This chapter may be a bit overly angsty and dramatic, but I feel like it fits with their characters on the show. Still, I may have gone a little overboard, but as you can probably tell, I enjoy angsty and dramatic – which I guess is part of the reason I love Blindspot. :) Also, it's the longest chapter I've ever written for any of my fanfics, I believe, but I couldn't bear to split it up. Enjoy!_

JANE AND KURT

Jane felt as though she was moving in slow motion as she forced herself to walk towards the table, closer to Kurt with each tentative step. When she finally got there, she sat down opposite Kurt deliberately, both to have the barrier between them but also because, since they both sat at the long ends of the table, the distance between them was relatively short. Separate, and yet close.

At no point did they take their eyes off of each other. It was as if they were involved in some sort of stand-off in which neither of them would allow themselves to be the first to look away. After what felt like such a long time to her (though it was only really 8 or 9 days), there he was, just across the width of the small metal table from her… and yet, it almost hurt more because now he was so close, and yet so much still stood between them.

They continued to stare at each other, and Jane was afraid to move too quickly for fear of his involuntary response if she did. After all, the last time she'd seen him, he'd pointed a gun at her and spoken to her like the criminal that he'd believed her to be. It was abundantly clear that he no longer trusted her, not even a little bit, and this knowledge hurt more than anything.

No, that wasn't quite true. There were _so many_ reasons why sitting across the table looking at him were hurting her, and she really couldn't make any one of them more important than the others. Suddenly, the task of explaining everything to him seemed too daunting, simply too much for her to manage. She inhaled sharply and looked down at her hands, which were clenched together on the table.

 _I_ _ **can't**_ _do this,_ she thought in sudden desperation. She felt the chasm between them growing before her eyes, and watched as he seemed to get farther and farther away from her, even as he remained in the same place across from her at the table. He was physically close enough that if she'd wanted to, she could have reached out and touched him. Well, technically she _wanted_ to, but at that moment it didn't seem like such a wise idea.

 _You_ _ **have to**_ _do this,_ she reminded herself. The only other choice is to continue on the way the last 9 days had gone… and to do so indefinitely. That option seemed even more impossible.

Kurt sat and watched Jane, not only as the seasoned FBI agent that he was, but also as the man who was suddenly realizing how firmly his feelings for the woman in front of him had taken root, without his even realizing it. _How is this even possible?_ he wondered. As he sat and stared into her eyes, the anger that still coursed through him – less intense than the last time he had seen her, but not gone completely – was suddenly diluted by a deluge of other emotions. He simply couldn't stare into her eyes and feel _only_ anger – not anymore.

As he studied her, he couldn't help but remember the Jane Doe who had been at his side for so long, the one that he had come to care so deeply about. This woman had saved his life more than once. She still _looked_ like that woman, and it was hard to wrap his brain around the fact that she wasn't who he'd thought she had been, even after more than a week of trying to do just that – even with evidence to back up this idea.

It was hard to remember the time before she had mysteriously been delivered to the FBI by way of a duffle bag in Times Square. He realized that he no longer _wanted_ to remember that time before her… and yet only a few short days before, he had desperately wanted to _forget_ everything about her. His emotions were beginning to give him whiplash.

But it was all just impossible. She had lied, and he _knew_ for certain that she had lied. He had proof, for God's sake! He wanted her to prove him wrong – no, he _needed_ her to prove him wrong. If she couldn't do that, he wouldn't be able to let himself be in the same room with her again… as it was, he felt as if the air was being slowly sucked out of the room, and it was harder and harder to breath the longer he looked at her.

She hadn't said a word yet, and already he was ready to believe everything she said – but hadn't that been what had gotten him into this mess in the first place? His blind trust in her? He had always been an excellent judge of people, of their character. This was the first time that his instincts seemed to have failed him, and they had done so rather spectacularly. At the same time that he was ready to believe her every word, he was also ready to _doubt_ anything and everything she might say, knowing what he now knew. He couldn't be sure which one was worse, that he wanted to trust her implicitly or that he was prepared to tell himself that everything she said was a lie. And how the hell could he be feeling both of those things at once? He scowled slightly at her in frustration.

She kept her head down, but peered up at him from beneath her eyelashes, only then raising her head gradually. _Where can I possibly start?_ she asked herself.There were so many secrets that she had kept from him, she now realized as she tried to organize her thoughts. _It wasn't supposed to be like this…_

 _You should have told him everything all along_ , she told herself.There was no denying it, the voice in her head was right.She'd been wrong to keep so much from him, from all of them, but of course it was too late to change that now. Her eyes squeezed shut and all of the muscles in her face contorted, and for a few seconds, she thought that a flood of tears was imminent. Holding her face still and breathing deeply, she convinced herself that no, it was too early to cry. _You haven't even said a single word yet,_ she scolded herself _. Save the tears until you've at least said_ _ **something.**_

Thinking about her behavior objectively, she had the strangest urge to laugh. The situation was so horrible, it struck her as almost comical. _I'm being ridiculous_ , she told herself. _I'm losing my mind_. Her eyes squeezed closed even tighter for just a second but the corners of her mouth turned up the slightest bit, and then her whole face suddenly relaxed, feeling slightly numb for a second after holding her muscles so tense. She was fairly sure that her behavior was a sign of the toll that all the stress she was under was having on her mind, but again, there was nothing to be done about that now. Maybe it was something to address with Dr. Borden in her next session… if she was allowed to see him again after this… if they didn't toss her down a dark hole somewhere…

 _Don't be so dramatic_ , she told herself. _Just get on with it._

Weller wasn't sure exactly what was going on in her head, but it was clear that something was. He watched her in fascination, and couldn't help but be reminded of the first days after they'd found her. His anger had blinded him to his memories of her temporarily, but now that he was seeing her in person, in front of him, he had started to remember – albeit against his will. This person, whoever she was, sat before him completely conflicted and at war with herself. How could he possibly have thought that it was _all_ a lie? She looked so vulnerable, as she had so many other times. For a second he flashed back to the first days he'd known her, and the numerous times that she'd looked at him desperately, completely and utterly lost and alone. _That_ could not have been a lie.

 _Could it?_

She opened her eyes and lifted her head, looking at him with a hint of sadness in her eyes. "I know that you think that everything I said was a lie," she began evenly. The sadness she felt was not only in her eyes, but in her voice as well. _You did this to yourself_ , she reminded herself, hoping against hope that she could maintain her composure. Even if she didn't break down, telling him everything was going to take a long, long time, and she had a pretty good idea what his reaction would be in the end. She shook her head and let out a short rueful laugh, focusing her gaze somewhere low on the wall behind him. The end result didn't matter, however. She owed it to him to tell him the truth. _All of it._

"And I understand why you would think that. But when I climbed out of that bag, I really _didn't_ remember anything. I really had no idea why your name was on my back, or who you were. Or who _I_ was, for that matter." She looked back up at him reluctantly, noting that while he was still watching her intently, and that the angry blaze in his eyes seemed to have subsided, at least temporarily. For the moment, he appeared to be listening. She took that as a good sign, and continued.

"I… the "me" I've been since I woke up in Times Square… I had no idea what had been done to me, no idea who I was. When I said that, it was _not_ a lie." She watched him, knowing that her words were just that to him – merely words. Her actions had already spoken for her. And yet she didn't know what more she could do to make him believe her. Words were all she had left, after all. Her voice dropped to a whisper as she added, "I have no right to ask you to believe me anymore, but that is the honest truth."

He shifted in his chair, but said nothing, just continued to watch her, his face unreadable. At least he'd stopped scowling at her, though. _Baby steps_ , she told herself.

She looked at him, holding his gaze for as long as she could bear. "The name Taylor Shaw didn't sound familiar when you, and then Patterson, told me that that was who I was," she continued. "Taylor was a stranger to me… but so was everyone else. _**I**_ was a stranger to me, so I had no way to know one way or the other if I was Taylor, of if I wasn't. The DNA test said I was, so I thought that I was."

Unable to meet his eyes anymore, she glanced nervously around the room, her voice beginning to shake. "I tried to be her, because I thought that that was who I was – who I was _supposed_ to be." She pressed her lips together tightly, needing a moment to compose herself as the memories of that time hit her hard. Her face tensed up again, and she stared at the spot on the wall that she'd found a few minutes before until she was ready to continue.

"I tried to be her, for you," she said in a whisper. "I wanted to believe that I was her, not just because I wanted to know who I was – though of course, I did want that… but mostly, I wanted to be her because she meant so much to you. I wanted you to have found her, so that you could have closure. I… wanted to believe that I was someone who was _important_ to someone. It was _so much better_ than being completely alone in the world." She paused, debating whether or not to articulate the last part of her thought. _What's the point in holding back now?_ she thought. _After all, that's what got you were you are now._

"Not just to _someone_ … I wanted to believe that I was important to _you_. Because…" She swallowed nervously, but pushed out the remaining words. "…when I looked at you, it always felt like… that was where I was supposed to be. With you. Even when I didn't know who _**I**_ was. As scared as I was, when you were there, I felt like… it could be okay."

Kurt was speechless. He felt like he'd been stabbed in the heart repeatedly. Maybe Patterson and Zapata had been right, after all. If Jane was telling the truth, and he wanted to believe that she was… Well, he'd never realized how big a role he'd played in making her believe that she was Taylor. Thinking back, he _had_ desperately wanted her to be Taylor. After searching for her for his whole life, maybe he hadn't been able to help it. And there had been _evidence,_ too. It wasn't just that he'd _wanted_ her to be Taylor. There was the scar, the positive DNA test. He _had_ been the first one to tell her his theory, which had been confirmed by Patterson after the DNA test came back positive. He'd conveniently forgotten that part. His mind was still reeling, but she was already talking again.

"There are…" she paused, knowing that what she'd said so far had been probably the easiest part of the entire confession. But she pushed on. "There are a lot of things I didn't tell you along the way. And I should have. Smaller things, at first, and then they slowly became bigger things… I know that you trusted me, when logically you had no reason to. You _shouldn't_ have, just like Reade didn't…" She was staring at her hands now, fidgeting with them on the table. He looked down at her hands as well, and felt a sudden urge to grab them and hold on tightly. He didn't, of course, but even just the urge to do so came as a surprise to him. His control on his emotions, tenuous though it was, was continuing to slip.

Kurt could recognize now that he was anything but objective, and the more he looked at her, the more he realized that nothing was black and white. He'd wanted to believe that it had all been a lie, because that was so much easier, but now that she was in front of him, he knew better. There were most certainly lies between them, but there was also truth. He had the sensation of falling and soaring and crashing all at once, and he realized now that he was possibly _not_ the best person for this interrogation – if it could even be called that. Really, he hadn't said anything except to tell her to sit at the table. But since she had said that she would speak only to him, and the interrogators were fed up with her silence, this unconventional arrangement had been allowed. And it seemed to be working.

"I did tell you about some of my memories, things that came in flashes, like black and white images of someone else's life. I didn't tell you everything I saw, though…" Her mind began leaping ahead, scrolling through all the memories that she'd had and had never told him about. _One thing at a time_ , she told herself. "I should have. I… don't know why, I guess I felt… ashamed, maybe… I didn't understand the things I saw. I saw myself doing… horrible things. Shooting people. Being trained to shoot and to do who knows what else... There were people I didn't remember… There were two main guys that I saw flashes of. And eventually I saw both of them in real life – at different times – and it scared the hell out of me. They knew me, but I didn't know them. They wanted things from me, but neither of them would give me any answers…"

Her words were coming faster now, and she knew that she needed to slow down and do a better job explaining. There was just so much to say… She hadn't looked up at him since she'd started talking about her memories. It seemed to be so much easier to fix her eyes on her hands, and twist and pull them as hard as she needed to, and to try to forget that he was there and she was actually talking to him. She was afraid to look up and face the judgement that she expected to see in his face. However, she took a chance and glanced up at him now, finding his eyes still locked on hers. Try as she might to read his expression, she still couldn't. It was different somehow, though, maybe just a little softer.

 _Don't give up on me,_ she found herself thinking, hoping that if she stared at him intently enough, he would be able to understand what she was trying to tell him.

Even while she'd been staring at her fidgeting hands, seeming to prefer to talk without actually looking at him, he'd continued to stare at her face. When the flood of words finally slowed and she looked up at him again for the first time in several minutes, he was taken aback by the look of desperation in her eyes. Again, he felt the urge to take her hand, to stop her from fidgeting. He even found himself feeling like the table between them was suddenly an obstacle… _And just what would you do if it wasn't there?_ he asked himself. He didn't have an answer to that question, however, only the sudden feeling that he was too far away from her.

As he'd been doing since she had sat down at the table, he just continued to watch her, his eyes revealing nothing. After all, even _he_ didn't know how he felt about anything at that moment, so he couldn't possibly communicate it to anyone else.

"I found out a lot of things much later – it took a long time to get any information out of either of them – that their names were Oscar and Marcos. We'd been part of a team – before my memory was wiped – with an… agenda of some kind. A plan. I still don't really know what they – _we_ ," she shook her head at her confusion over the correct pronoun to use. It was hard to keep talking about it all as if she'd been a part of it. She knew that physically she'd been there, but she knew nothing about it. "…were trying to do… but I don't want to change the subject."

Pausing, she looked back up into his eyes. "Do you remember when we were dancing at Rich Dotcom's party? When I told you that I had a memory of being engaged?"

Just the thought of that day was a temporary reprieve from the hell she was in just then, and even though coming back to reality afterwards would hurt even more, she let herself bask in that day for a few precious seconds. It had been one of the best days of her life – at least the part of her life that she remembered – if not theverybest day. The whole experience should have been terrifying, and she _had_ been nervous on the helicopter on the way there - though that had been more because she was afraid of flying, and because to her knowledge, she'd never tried to go undercover. But from the minute Kurt had helped her out of the helicopter and they had slipped into the roles of husband and wife, it had just felt right.

Somehow, even knowing that every minute they were there, they was putting their lives in danger, the day had been perfect. Obviously, she had an insane idea of a "perfect" day, but so be it. Everything about it had been perfect: dancing with Kurt as if they were simply guests at a fancy party, being allowed to ask him personal questions that he could have refused to answer, but that he _did_ answer, all the while staring at her with a look that made her feel like they were the only two people in the room. All day long she'd gotten to stand so close to him, to hold his hand or his arm. She still remembered the feeling of his breath on her neck when, after unclasping the necklace from behind her, he'd leaned forward, into her back, to hand it to Dotcom, instead of leaning around her. It still took her breath away.

She had pretended that she didn't see what was happening between them, didn't _feel_ it, and he pretended right along with her… but she had known what was going on, and there was no way he had looked at her that way and not felt it too. Even her limited experience told her that much. Hell, even killing Rich Dotcom's body guards with Kurt had just been another part of a perfect day. The end of the mission had been almost… disappointing. They had been successful in their mission and were flown to safety, and she knew that she should have been relieved… But it had meant a return to reality, and in their reality, there was a distance between them that hadn't been there for that one day.

 _Remember? How could I forget?_ he wanted to say. That day stood out so vividly in his memory, it was almost as though he'd lived that one day viewed through some sort of enhanced filter that had made everything look more vibrant than the rest of his life up until then. He hadn't understood at the time why he'd thought back to that day so many times in the months since then. It was a mission, after all, and he'd been on plenty of other missions – including more than a few undercover missions, some of which had also required black tie attire. The thing that had been different about that one, he now realized, had been Jane's presence.

Somehow he hadn't seen it then, but he did now… why that day stood out so boldly in his memory, and at that moment, he wanted to kick himself for not realizing it sooner. Pretending to be married to her, having a reason to be that close to her… it hadn't felt like undercover work. It had felt like an excuse to do what he had wanted to do anyway, but couldn't let himself because he was a professional, and there was a line he wouldn't let himself cross. Besides, even if he _had_ been willing to cross that line, the walls he'd built around himself, the ones that Allie didn't think he'd heard her refer to when she'd talked to Jane earlier that day in the office, had been stronger back then.

And so, after trying to ignore the pull he felt towards Jane for so long, on this mission it was suddenly as if he'd been told to give in to that pull. Of course, that was not what he was actually told, but it was an excuse to do it, if only for a day. Judging from the way she'd acted as well, he wasn't alone in feeling the way he did. It was no wonder, then, that they'd made such a convincing pair. So the question was, how in the world had he not understood his feelings then?

She watched him while she waited for his answer. Having shaken herself out of the reverie that that day provided, she noticed that Kurt was lost in thoughts of his own. The chance that those thoughts mirrored her own memories of that day seemed like too much to hope for. And yet… she swore that he was smiling slightly at whatever he was thinking about.

He realized that he'd been lost in thought, and when he focused on her again she was watching him, more than a few seconds having ticked by. She was waiting for an answer from him, of course. It was impossible to be sure, but he could have sworn that he saw the hint of a smile on her face at having caught him lost in thought about that day, and for a split second he worried that she had read his mind. _Don't be ridiculous_ , he told himself. Not trusting his voice just then, he simply nodded. _Yes,_ he thought, _I remember_.

"Later, I learned that the man I had been engaged to… his name was Oscar," she said, forcing herself to hold eye contact with him despite her sudden extreme discomfort. _Why would this be any harder to say than anything else?_ she wondered.

 _Because you're telling someone you have feelings for about being engaged to another man, stupid,_ her inner voice replied. _Shouldn't that be obvious?_

Trying to ignore the voice's biting sarcasm, she continued her confession. "Later, he told me that I had volunteered for the… mission… that I had insisted that it had to be me, even." She paused for a second, seeing the look of betrayal reappear in his eyes once more. It was because she'd referred to her presence at the FBI as a _mission_ , she knew, and she hated to have to cause him any more pain than she already had… but there was no sense beating around the bush. However she sugarcoated it, it wouldn't change the reality of what had happened… Even though she wasn't the person who had done it – well, she was, but… - a mix of guilt and frustration flooded through her because of the whole thing once again.

 _I refuse to feel guilty about something that wasn't me!_ she wanted to scream. But it _had_ been her. But it _hadn't_ … And try as she might to stop herself, she felt _very_ guilty about all of it.

"The mission… I still don't quite understand it, since I never got Oscar to explain it to me before everything else started happening..." _Slow down, she told herself, attempting to calm down. Her pulse was suddenly racing with anxiety._ "But that's… something else… Anyway, so I broke off our engagement…" The word _engagement_ had come out slowly and carefully, as if she was trying not to give it any more weight than she had to, as if she regretted that she had to say it at all – which she realized that she did.

It suddenly felt very important for her to let him know that she didn't remember being in love with Oscar. There was very little – nothing really – that she could do about all the ways that he felt betrayed by her, but for some reason she needed him to know that she didn't remember the feelings that her former self had had for him.

"…because I knew that my memory was going to be wiped and if all went as planned, I wouldn't remember him. I don't remember this, it's what he told me. _And I didn't remember him when I woke up_. In the flashes I started having, I saw myself give him the ring back, and I looked sad, but it didn't make me _feel_ sad to see myself do it. I didn't remember – and I still _don't_ … the way I felt about him. Before. I didn't remember who he was. My only clue was the ring, at first. It looked like we were in love, but… it was like watching someone else's memories, or watching a movie. And even after I'd seen him in person, and he'd told me, I didn't _feel_ it." She paused, and then added sadly, for whatever it was worth. "It wasn't _me_ who was in love with him."

 _Even though it_ _ **was**_ , her mind replied.

 _Stop it!_ she screamed in her head. _I'm not her!_

He saw her wince slightly, as if something or someone had said something that had hurt her. _She knows that it was her, but she knows that it wasn't_ , he thought. He could only imagine how confusing that must be. Still, even though he understood logically that she both was and wasn't that person, he didn't like the feeling he got in the pit of his stomach hearing about this Oscar guy, and he had a feeling that it was only going to get worse.

"I do remember giving him back the… ring he'd given me." This time, she couldn't bring herself to say the word "engagement." At that point, she paused to assess the impact of her words on Kurt. The feeling of dread that she was getting from talking about Oscar had been growing with every word, and she just wanted it all to stop. When she looked back at Kurt, she saw something that she hadn't been expecting.

 _No, it was impossible._

As she looked into Kurt's eyes, she saw sparks of jealousy. She wanted to smile then, at the irony that it had taken all of this – this horrible mess that she'd made of this "new life" of hers – to get her to sit down and tell him the truth. _You could have seen that look a long time ago if you'd have just told him the truth from the beginning_ , she told herself sadly.

Looking back down at the table, her eyes moved from her hands – still fidgeting – to his, which were clamped together with what looked like an iron grip, and sat on the table where they'd been since he'd sat down. There was only about twelve inches separating their respective hands, and yet… it couldn't have felt farther if he'd been on the other side of the world.

"It wasn't just you and Patterson who told me I was Taylor," Jane continued, bringing the conversation back around to the topic of her identity. There would be much more to say about Oscar, but the first thing she'd wanted to clear up was the issue of her being Taylor, since she was fairly sure that that was what had killed his trust of her. "Looking back, I guess I asked Oscar if my name was Taylor Shaw, and he went along with it. He said later that it was easier that way, or something, since I already thought that that was who I was. He even called me Taylor… even though I hated it."

She noticed the faintest hint of a smile on his face at the comment that she'd hated being called Taylor. Even _he_ , the guy who'd so _wanted_ her to be Taylor, had figured out pretty fast that she didn't want to be called by that name. He couldn't help the feeling of smug satisfaction he got from knowing something so basic about Jane that the guy who was allegedly her ex-fiancé – or, the ex-fiancé of the woman Jane had been before, anyway – hadn't known.

 _I called her 'Taylor,' too, the last time I left her a voicemail._ He didn't know why that thought suddenly popped into his head with such clarity. _When I called her, after digging up dad's backyard and not finding anything or anyone, and before I realized…_

It was a little thing, and stupid really, but after everything else, it was like pouring salt on an open wound. Looking back now with the benefit of hindsight, it had been one of the last moments that he had thought that she _was_ Taylor, before everything had fallen apart.

 _Why would I do that?_ he wondered. He hadn't called her Taylor in a _very_ long time, after all. He supposed that after being so distraught over the thought of finding Taylor buried in his backyard, and the resulting relief that had flooded him when he'd been wrong, he'd simply slipped. Normally, when he thought of his childhood friend, she was Taylor, and when he thought of the woman he now knew, she was Jane – even though he knew them to be the same person. Somehow, it had always made sense in his head.

Still, he couldn't focus on what he had called this woman whose name he no longer knew, because his insides burned even more angrily at the thought of a ring on her finger from another man, despite the fact that he knew very well that that other woman hadn't been the Jane that he knew. He had a feeling that the person she had been would not have been someone he would have gotten along with very well. Still, he didn't like the way it made him feel to think about such a scene.

"I had no reason to think that I _wasn't_ Taylor. Until… the same night that you found out. Oscar… too many things had gone wrong with what he'd wanted me to – what he'd been _forcing_ me to do…" She was confused for a second when his face clouded with what looked very much like rage, until she realized that he had misunderstood what she meant when she'd said _what he'd been forcing me to do_. She'd been vague for a reason – she wasn't ready to talk about the dishonest things that she'd done and the way Oscar had coerced her into doing them – but he'd taken her vagueness in an understandably more common direction in his mind.

She bit back a smile, as completely inappropriate as the timing was for such a thing just then, but couldn't help but feel the smile through her entire body. His was such an endearing reaction because it was clear what he was imagining, and it let her know that his feelings for her weren't gone – at least on a basic human level anyway. He was imagining her body being taken advantage of, and it made him angry. _Don't read_ _ **too much**_ _into that,_ she reminded herself, _Kurt's a good guy, he'd be upset about that happening to anyone._ Still, she wasn't so sure that it meant nothing. But she pushed that hope aside for the time being.

Shaking her head quickly at the horrified expression on his face, she replied, "No, no, no, _nothing_ like that. We—he—I—" she broke off, realizing she was venturing dangerously close to a topic that she dreaded telling him more than almost anything else. _You know exactly why you don't want to tell him what you did with Oscar… and you're going to have to tell him – but not right now._ She needed to stay focused on what she was trying to tell him first. First was the question of her identity. The rest had to wait.

"So he said that our relationship was too 'compromised,' and that he was going to wipe my memory again—"

 _Again?_ Kurt's mind jerked to attention. _So it was her ex-fiancé that wiped her memory the first time, too?_ His mind was swimming with a million questions, but he knew that he needed to let Jane finish what she was trying to say. He also knew that he would undoubtedly have many, many more questions before he got the chance to ask any of them.

"Obviously, he didn't quite succeed…" She bit her lip and looked back at her hands once again, remembering the fight in the barn and accidentally stabbing Oscar, then watching the barn burn down… Her eyes closed of their own accord and she had to force herself to come back to the present time, opening them to see Kurt still staring at her, and obviously more confused than ever. "Anyway, just before I… escaped from the barn where he'd had me tied up, he told me that…" her head remained down but her eyes found his as she paused, then continued in a whisper. "He finally admitted that I was never Taylor Shaw."

There was silence in the room, as her words sunk in. Kurt had made so many assumptions, he saw that now… but there was _still_ the nagging question of why she had lied about remembering being Taylor.

"Kurt, I _swear_ that I didn't know before that. And when I finally escaped, I came back home, and I called you… I…" Her words died on her lips, and she sat and tried to regroup. Suddenly, the look on his face was making it hard for her to think. The seconds turned to minutes as the silence hung heavily in the air between them. Seeing that he wasn't ready to reply, she finally continued.

"In a way I was horrified, because it was one of the only things I knew about myself, and suddenly it was a lie. I didn't understand how it was possible that I _wasn't_ her, because that DNA test… Maybe… I guess it was a weight off my shoulders in a way, because being someone you can't remember is like trying to be someone you can never live up to… but the biggest thing was… I was scared of what that would mean… for us. Because if I wasn't Taylor, then I didn't know what that made me… to you. After everything, I was afraid to be… just a case, after all."

The look in her eyes was heartbreaking, but he closed his eyes to clear it from his mind, shaking his head to dislodge it. Then he spoke for the first time since asking her to come to the table when he'd walked in. His eyes opened and to her surprise, the look of betrayal had returned. In a voice that was low and raspy, he said simply, "But you said… you said that you remembered. Being Taylor."

She closed her eyes and felt the tears that she hadn't even realized were gathering there slipping onto her cheeks. Nodding her head, she spoke without reopening them. "I know. Oscar… gave me pictures from that time, told me to study them, and to talk about those times and places so that it would seem like I remembered."

Now absolutely floored, Kurt uttered the only word that was thundering in his head. It came out in a desperate whisper. " _Why_?"

Jane's eyes were still closed, but she didn't need to see him to know how her words had just hurt him. It was in his voice.

 _What in the world could possess her to do something like that? How could someone who was basically – even though not actually – a stranger convince her to lie to me about something that she_ _ **knew**_ _had haunted me for my entire life? How_ _ **could**_ _she?_ He was beyond anger. Instead, he felt himself in the process of shattering to pieces, like he was ten years old all over again.

Her voice was shaking now, the tears still flowing. "Oscar said… that if I didn't make you believe that I remembered being Taylor, and if I didn't do a bunch of… other things for him…" She shook her head hard at the memory. Her eyes were still closed, her head pointed down toward her hands. "…that your life was in danger. _**They said they would kill you**_ _._ The things they were making me do were that important to them, and they knew that you had become important to me… I just couldn't take the chance. The other man I remembered, the one who broke into my safe house? Remember?" She opened her eyes and glanced up for just a second to see him nod, not bothering to wipe the tears from her face, then nodded back at him, looked down and continued.

"I found out later that his name was Marcos. He had come to warn me not to trust Oscar and the others… but they had a sniper kill him before he could tell me anything. All he said before they shot him was not to trust _them_ … but at the time I didn't know who 'them' was, whether it was Oscar, or the FBI, or someone else…" Her voice was rising, and she could feel herself losing control of her emotions completely. "That was what made me keep those memories to myself in the beginning, and it got me into so much trouble later… But having seen them do that to him so easily, I couldn't take the chance that they would do that to _you_." Her words, along with her tears, were coming faster now, and she didn't know how much longer she could do this. However, now that she'd started, she had to get it out.

"I couldn't let anything happen to you because of _me_. I figured that it was better if you hated me but that you were alive, than for you to end up dead… even though… I would lose you either way. At least you'd still be alive."

 _She did all this because they threatened_ _ **me**_ _?_ he stared at her in shock, unable to process the words as fast as she was saying them. So she _had_ lied, but she had been coerced… and she'd gone through all of it alone. At that moment, he had the intense urge to put his arms around her, but he stayed where he was. After all, she was still talking. As much as she'd already said, it seemed that this was just the tip of the iceberg.

"I should've trusted you with all of it, I see that now. By the time I realized my place in all of it, how they – I mean, _I –"_ she smiled bitterly at the irony of blaming someone else for something that in a way, she had done to herself. "…had set me up… it was too late. I was in so deep, I'd done so many things without realizing how those little things fit into the bigger picture… and it's all my fault. _All of it!"_ She was struggling to breathe, taking quick gulps of air and gripping the side of the table for support.

She'd stopped making sense by now, as far as he was concerned, but all he did know was that he had been wrong. _So very wrong_. He felt sick sitting there and watching her suffer. He needed to do something, _anything_ , to get her to calm down, because her being hysterical wasn't helping anyone. So he did the first thing that popped into his head, which was to reach his hand across the table and cover one of hers where it still clutched the side of the table.

"It's gonna be okay, Jane," he said, trying to bring her back from the brink of the panic attack she appeared to be having.

When she looked up at him, her eyes were wild and tormented at the same time. She shook her head, looking at him with… was it pity?

"You don't understand…" she said slowly, shaking her head. "I still don't know _why_ , but this was _my idea."_ She saw the inevitable confusion cloud his face and knew that this was it. This was where it would be too much for even him, where she would lose him for good, if she hadn't already. She removed her hands from the table, making his hand fall away, clutching her own hands together tightly once again and pushing them into her lap, out of his reach. As much as she had desperately longed for that form of comfort from him, she had to deny it to herself. After all, in another thirty seconds he'd wish he'd never touched her in the first place, and probably drop her hand in disgust. That would only hurt more.

"Your idea? What are you talking about?" he asked, stunned. _Surely there was an explanation for all this that made sense._

"I still only remember bits and pieces of it from _before_ , and Oscar wouldn't tell me very much, but… it was _my_ idea. He had a video that he showed me… of me from before, that I'd obviously made for myself after the memory wipe, knowing that I wouldn't remember. _**Kurt…**_ " she looked at him in desperation, fighting to get the words out. __" _ **I did this to myself.**_ And that's not even the worst of it…"

 _That's_ _ **not**_ _the worst of it?_ he repeated in his head. _What could possibly be_ _ **worse**_ _?_

She swallowed hard, preparing herself to rip off the band aid, so to speak. As long as she was confessing, she might as well go out with a bang. _Here goes nothing, she thought._

"It was my plan. The memory wipe, the tattoos... I don't _remember_ it, but _I_ did it. Not only that, but because of me, Carter is dead. And Marcos. And _Mayfair_. And Oscar. I killed Oscar _myself_." She choked on the last word, and struggled to catch her breath.

To say that he was stunned would have been a fairly large understatement. He stared at her, repeating the words that she'd said in his head, trying to process them. Surely, she was being dramatic, or she was leaving out important details. He could see that she'd worked herself up into a frenzy, after all. But how could she… his mind simply couldn't digest the things she'd said. How could _four_ people be dead because of her. And _Mayfair?_ _ **Mayfair?**_

 _What have you done, Jane?_

She didn't know exactly what she was expecting, but when she finally looked up again, Kurt was still sitting across the table from her, apparently in shock. He said nothing, just sat and looked at her in confusion and disbelief. If she wasn't mistaken, there was disgust now mixed in with the rest of the emotions on his face. She had known that it was coming, but it didn't make it any easier to see him look at her that way. She kept waiting for him to say something, but he just kept staring back at her in silence. Not able to make herself keep looking at him because she was so ashamed of her part in all of it, she stared down at her hands. She had run out of tears, and run of words – at least for the time being. Now she simply felt empty. She silently begged him to say something. _Anything_ … but she couldn't make herself look at him until he did.

It was a crushing disappointment, therefore, when she heard the sound of his chair scraping against the floor. When she finally looked up, she saw his back as he headed for the door, without a word or a backward glance. It was just as she'd feared… she had tried, but she had failed. There was apparently nothing that she could say that would change anything. And there was still so much more that he deserved to know…

The realization dawned on her that she was watching him walk away without knowing if he would be back. She wouldn't blame him if it was the last time she saw him. And yet… while she knew that it was her fault, she could not imagine any punishment that could possibly hurt her more than the way she felt at that moment. With her last glimmer of hope now extinguished, she laid her head down on her arm against the table and sobbed harder than she ever had before. She was fairly sure that her heart was literally breaking in pieces, because it felt as though her chest was going to split open then and there. Nothing else mattered now. She had her answer.

 _A/N: There is obviously a LOT more that Jane hasn't told him yet, but this seemed like a logical chunk of information to start with. I've started brainstorming the other things that she'll tell him (if he's willing to listen again, of course), including a bunch of things that were touched on but not explained in this chapter. However, I have a feeling that my running list is not exhaustive, because, well, Martin Gero and company are_ _ **geniuses**_ _and have made this show pretty impossible to unravel without a lot more time than I currently have to devote to that sort of project._

 _Therefore, if there's anything in particular that you think is worth her confessing, please send me a PM and let me know – and if you know the episode that tidbit comes from off the top of your head, then even better, so I can go back and find the tiny details I need. I don't promise to use every one, but I'm just too impatient to keep writing (as you can probably tell from this relatively speedy update, despite how crazy long it is) to go back and rewatch all of the episodes in their entirety (as much fun as that would be) to find all the details._

 _Thanks in advance for your help, and as always thank you for reading and for all of the lovely reviews you've all left on this story. I write fanfic for the fun of it, of course, but it's even more fun to know that other people love it as much as I do. :)_


	12. Good Intentions

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: As always, thanks to all of my readers for your support, and to Tealo for pointing out a small inconsistency in chapter 11 about Kurt calling Jane 'Taylor' in the finale. I've tweaked that section of chapter 11, because I always try to have the details right._

ZAPATA, READE AND PATTERSON

The monitoring room beside the interrogation room was dead silent, as it had been for what felt like the eternity that it had taken Jane and Kurt's emotional scene to unfold before their eyes. The only exception to that silence had been the periodic gasps or, even more often, quiet sniffles from Patterson, and occasionally Zapata. The three of them sat openmouthed, shocked at what they had just witnessed – especially the explosive ending.

As soon as Kurt's chair scraped the floor of the adjoining room, Zapata was out of her own chair, almost knocking it over in her haste to make it to the door. _What was he doing? Where the hell was he going?_ She had to get to him before he disappeared to go off and brood somewhere that she couldn't find him. By now she knew Weller well enough to know that that was probably what he would do in this situation. It was understandable that he needed to take a step back after everything he'd just been told, but Zapata was afraid he wouldn't come back on his own. He had a tendency to retreat, physically and mentally, from situations like this. Not that _any_ other situation could be described as being like this…

So while Zapata felt terrible for Jane, who was sobbing in the next room, she believed that the best thing she could do for her was to deal with Weller.

Patterson sat and stared at the monitor, tears running down her face. She'd cried nearly all the way through Jane's confession, and had long since given up on trying to hide it. Reade looked at her with concern, not sure what he could possibly do for any of them that would be helpful just then. To say that this was a mess would be the understatement of the year.

KURT AND ZAPATA

Zapata's reaction time had been so fast, and Kurt was moving so slowly, that she was actually in the hall a few seconds before him. She stood facing the door of the interrogation room with her arms folded, and when he emerged, looking like a man who had taken exactly the emotional beating that he had, she raised her eyebrows at him in a silent question. He stepped forward towards her, but she said nothing until the door clicked shut behind him. Then she held up her hands in front of him, not threateningly, but in a gesture that told him to stop where he was. He did so without a word, not having any energy left to argue with her.

"Where're you going, Weller?" she asked warily. He was emotionally unstable at best at the moment, and with good reason. There was no way she was letting him just take off on his own. Besides, from what they'd heard, there was a _lot_ more left for him to hear.

"I just need…" He wasn't looking at her, and he seemed disoriented. His eyes were darting around the hallway, not seeming to stop on any one point. It was as though his brain was frozen. _What_ _ **do**_ _I need?_ he asked himself. _I need… I need…_ Nothing came to mind. He simply couldn't form a thought. The only thing he'd known was that he couldn't be in that room staring at Jane anymore. Not right now… Not after everything she had told him.

Zapata watched him carefully for a few seconds, growing more and more concerned. To say that this behavior was unlike him was to make a molehill out of a mountain. "Hey, Weller… Are you okay?" she asked him, though she was fairly sure that he was anything _but_ okay. She was worried now. He seemed even more lost than he had when he'd come in the previous week, more than a little hung over after trying to drink Jane out of his system.

The fog surrounding Kurt's brain lifted just slightly, to the point that he heard Zapata's question. Despite having spoken to her already, he had only just registered that she was standing in front of him. "I…" Kurt finally looked at her, and it was as if he was surprised to see her there. He had absolutely no idea what he was supposed to do with everything that had just happened. He had never been in that situation before, of course. To make matters worse, there was no Mayfair around to _ask_ what he should do next. So, because she was standing there with him, he asked Zapata instead. "What do I do now, Zapata?"

He looked at her pleadingly, his eyes begging her for the answers that she didn't have. What _should_ he do now? That was indeed the question. What could _any_ of them do? Big bad Agent Kurt Weller looked like a lost puppy that had been kicked, and even though she had a feeling that the situation was still salvageable, she couldn't help but feel for both him and for Jane. They'd both already been through so much, both together and separately, and now they'd be going through a lot more.

It was just then that she had an idea of what he – _they_ , really – should do next, and she was pretty sure that it would either be a spectacular failure or a grand success. She'd always liked to take chances, so she decided to go for it and hoped that it would pay off.

"You're going to come with me," she told him soothingly. "Just one second." Taking out her phone, she typed a message to Patterson. It read, _I've got Weller. He's not pissed at her, he's overwhelmed. Too much info at once. Gonna get him some air, and we'll be back. I think Jane will calm down if she knows that. Can you sit with her?_

A few seconds later, a message from Patterson appeared on her screen. _Absolutely. Good luck._

Smiling, she replied, _You too._

With that out of the way, Zapata locked her screen and dropped her phone back into her pocket, linking her arm through Kurt's. It wasn't a usual gesture between the two of them, both of them preferring to keep their personal space undisturbed, but she just had the feeling that he needed a little extra support. Everything they'd just heard… it was overwhelming for all of them, and it would be a thousand times harder for Kurt than anyone else.

Weller was one of the most honest, decent guys she knew, and she loved him like a brother. What Jane had just dumped at his feet would take a long time to sort through, and there would no doubt be a lot more to come. But their little group was a family, a little dysfunctional though it may be, and they would figure it out. They'd always had each other's backs, and that wasn't about to change.

"C'mon Weller, let's go get some air," she told him, steering him towards the elevator that would take them to the parking garage. He just nodded and followed her lead. He felt numb to everything and everyone around him, and he was suddenly very glad that Zapata was there. If there was one thing he knew about her, it was that she could be trusted with his life.

JANE AND PATTERSON

Zapata and Kurt had just walked slowly down the hall when Patterson and Reade emerged from the monitoring room. Patterson had read Zapata's text to him, so he was up to speed.

"I think you're better off on your own on this one," he told her as she stepped towards the interrogation room door. "You need anything?"

"Would you get Jane some water, please? I think it might help, if I can get her to calm down enough to drink it," Patterson replied.

Reade nodded in agreement. "I'm on it. Be right back."

Turning towards the door of the interrogation room, Patterson peered through the window and looked at a despondent Jane, still sitting at the table with her head down. Her sobs seemed to have lost some of their intensity, but as she opened the door she could hear that the crying hadn't stopped. She saw her friend stiffen at the sound of the door opening, but she didn't lift her head. Patterson walked slowly to the table and carried the other chair around to Jane's side so that she could sit beside her.

"Jane," she said in her calmest voice. She laid her left hand on Jane's back and rubbed back and forth gently, in what she hoped was a calming motion. "Hey… It's okay."

Jane sniffled a few times, relaxing slightly as she realized that it was Patterson who was beside her. She sat up slowly, reluctantly looking Patterson in the face. Hoping that she didn't look at utterly terrible as she felt, she ran her hands across her face, attempting to push away the accumulated wetness of what had felt like millions of tears. Despite the fact that she knew that Patterson would never judge her for being an emotional wreck, she _wasn't_ sure that she wouldn't judge her for the horrible things that she'd done, and to which everyone had surely just heard her confess.

"So you guys… heard…?" Jane stopped mid-sentence. The question hung in the air half-finished, but its meaning was clear.

"Yeah, we were in the other room. We heard everything," Patterson confirmed sheepishly, nodding and giving her a sad smile.

Jane looked up at the ceiling, unable to look her friend in the eye, and braced herself for the judgement that she was sure was coming. After all, she thought, the things she had done… and to the people who had been so good to her… she could feel herself about to lose control again. How could they _not_ judge her?

But the words Patterson said next were _not_ the ones that Jane had expected to hear. "I'm so sorry, Jane. I hate that you had to go through all that alone."

Jane pulled her eyes away from the ceiling, looking back at Patterson in surprise, seeing her smiling at her sadly. She tried to smile back, but her face suddenly broke and more tears flowed from her eyes, despite her best efforts to keep them at bay. Patterson was… _sorry that she'd gone through it alone?_ She wasn't disgusted by her? Didn't _hate_ her? Didn't want to run away screaming from the complete mess that her life would undoubtedly become if she stuck around her? Jane was taken aback. She simply didn't understand how she could be forgiven. Kurt, obviously, hadn't forgiven her…

 _I don't deserve friends like this. Friends like Patterson and Zapata,_ Jane thought as she began shaking again from the intensity of her tears. It killed her that Patterson was being so kind to her, when all Jane felt was guilt and shame over the things she had done, and over what had happened to the people around her. The word _alone_ echoed through Jane's head long after Patterson had uttered it, and she covered her face with both hands, leaning forward until her forehead was almost touching the table. The feeling of wanting to disappear into nothingness had become very familiar by now, and at that moment it threatened to engulf her once again.

"Hey, come on…" Patterson said soothingly, continuing to rub Jane's back. "I promise, it's okay." And then, because just like Zapata, she suspected what was _really_ bothering her friend, she added, "Jane… Listen to me. Weller's with Zapata. She told me that he's not angry. He's just… overwhelmed by it all. They're getting some air, and then she's bringing him back. Okay?"

She felt Jane relax slightly, and the shaking that had been running through her body slowly came to a stop. It took a few minutes, but Jane managed to regain a semblance of control over her emotions. Finally, she looked back up, looking at Patterson questioningly. _How could she be sure that he'd really come back?_ After everything that had happened, Jane was afraid to hope that it was true, and yet, she couldn't help but cling to that hope for dear life. _He's just overwhelmed… She's_ _bringing him back_ , she kept repeating in her head.

"He's coming back Jane, I promise," Patterson repeated, seeing the doubt in Jane's eyes. "It's going to be okay."

She felt the numbness in her body begin to subside ever so slowly as she allowed herself to hope. "Thank you," Jane whispered. Her voice was so soft, Patterson almost didn't hear it at all.

Patterson smiled sadly at Jane again, wishing there was something more she could do for her. "Do you want to… talk about any of it?" she asked hesitantly. The past few hours – hell, the past ten _days_ – had been hell for Jane, and it really wouldn't have surprised her if talking about it was the _last_ thing she'd wanted to do. Still, if she wanted to talk, then Patterson wanted to be there to listen. That's just what friends did, after all.

At that moment, the lock on the door clicked loudly and Reade entered, an apologetic look on his face, carrying two bottles of water to the table. _Apparently he knows that I'll probably need that just as much as Jane,_ Patterson thought in amusement. _And he's probably right_. For a second, she wished he'd brought them something harder to drink, but they couldn't exactly serve alcohol inside FBI headquarters. That would have to wait for another day, and another place.

"Sorry to interrupt," he told them. "You need anything else? Jane? Patterson?" He looked from one of them to the other.

Jane shook her head, trying to smile at Reade gratefully but knowing that it probably looked more like a grimace. "No, but thanks, Reade," Patterson replied, smiling warmly at him.

"Alright," Reade said, already stepping back toward the door. He could feel the high levels of emotion in the room, which was _not_ his thing, but Patterson seemed to have things under control. At least for the moment, Jane wasn't crying. "You know where to find me." Both women nodded, and he took that as his cue, escaping back out the door and back down the hall.

Jane ignored the bottle of water for the time being, and stared off into space for several minutes. Finally, a pained expression crossed her face and she shook her head sadly, looking up at the ceiling. She appeared to be lost in thought, but she started talking. "I just… I just wanted to do the right thing. But I couldn't figure out what the right thing _was_. After Marcos got shot right in front of me and I didn't know _who_ he was telling me not to trust… I was so _scared_. And you guys were so good to me, but I didn't know… and Kurt…" Tears were falling again, and suddenly she could no longer finish her sentences. The little bit of control over her emotions that she had had was gone once again.

 _It's too much_. _Just make it stop,_ Jane begged silently to no one in particular. _Please just make it stop._

"Jane… no…" Patterson was crying again too, unable to help herself in the face of her friend's emotional distress, and she pulled Jane into a tight hug. She wasn't doing any better at maintaining control over herself than Jane was, so she hoped that her mere presence could be of some help. At least Jane would know that she wasn't alone, for whatever that was worth.

This thought, along with Jane's continued tears, meant that it took both women some time to calm down. When they finally did, slowly releasing each other from their prolonged hug, Patterson set Jane's water bottle in front of her, and opened the other one for herself. It was still relatively cold, and it tasted even better than she'd expected. Slowly, Jane opened hers as well, taking a small sip before putting the top back on and replacing it in front of her. Sighing heavily, she shook her head.

"What do I do now?" she asked in a small voice, staring at the wall ahead of them.

Patterson thought for a minute, unsure exactly what her friend was asking her. Was she asking her what she should do now, this instant? Those options were pretty limited, after all. Was she asking her what she should do with her life in general? Was she asking what she should do once the FBI let her go – assuming they _did_ let her go? It was hard to know how to answer her.

"I know you, Jane," Patterson replied slowly.

Before Patterson could go on, Jane scoffed bitterly. "Well, that makes one of us."

Patterson shook her head sadly, knowing that the bitterness in Jane's voice was not directed at her, and continued. "And I know that above everything else, you always do what you think is right." Jane shook her head at her, looking dangerously close to tears again, but Patterson ignored her and continued. "Sometimes it's hard to _know_ what's right. That's not just you. That happens to all of us, no matter how many years' worth of memories we have."

She looked over at Jane, whose lips were pursed as if she was trying once more to keep her tears at bay. "That's what _everyone_ struggles with – doing what's right. Because after all, who decides what's right? We all have to figure that out as we go along. From what it sounds like to me, maybe this is crazy, but… maybe when Oscar wiped your memory, he did you a favor." She hoped that comment didn't hit a nerve, but she had a point, so she pushed on so that she could get there.

"I don't know the person you were. I don't know what her plan was or whether it was right or wrong, and I don't know if we all would have been better off if it had gone that way you – that _she_ – wanted it to. What I _do_ know is that whatever the old you believed about right and wrong, you – _Jane_ – would do anything to help someone else. You _constantly_ put yourself at risk to help people. To _save_ people. You're fiercely loyal. And yes, you've been forced to make impossible choices. And no, you're not perfect. _No one_ is perfect. That's something that people learn growing up, so you probably don't remember it. Whatever you think about yourself, you're one of the good guys."

She hadn't meant to make Jane cry again, but these were different tears, rolling down her face silently, despite the hint of a smile on her lips.

"And if he doesn't see that, then, well… _I'm going to make him,_ " Patterson added seriously, before breaking into a grin. It was mostly a joke, but if she had to, she was going to have another of those "talks" with Weller that involved her aggressively raised voice, which he seemed to now dread. Most of the time he knew not to mess with her.

Jane laughed, shaking her head at Patterson. "I don't deserve a friend like you," she said quietly.

Patterson's eyes grew wide. "Hey! We've been over this. Deserved or not, you _have_ me." Jane chuckled and shook her head. "But you _do_ , for the record, deserve us, the friends you have. And you're not going to convince me otherwise." She looked at Jane defiantly, letting her know that the subject was closed.

"Okay," Jane replied simply, letting a small smile settle on her face for the first time in what felt like an eternity.

"Anything else we need to clear up?" Patterson asked, taking another drink of water. She was actually pretty proud of her little motivational speech, and it seemed to have helped. Then Jane shifted uncomfortably in her chair, her face clouding over. "I know there's a _lot_ you haven't told us yet, even from just the hints you already gave," she told Jane. "You don't have to tell me anything else now. You don't wanna talk about any of it, we can talk about something else. _Anything_."

One thing was foremost on Jane's mind all of a sudden, now that she'd gotten past the initial phase of her confession. Looking down at the table in front of them, she whispered, "Kurt's going to hate me."

"No, he's not," Patterson replied immediately. "There's a lot to work through… but he's not going to hate you. What makes you say that?"

Once again, Jane's face was pained. "Well, there's the four people's deaths that I'm responsible for…"

"Jane, I'm sure that's not true—" Patterson started. She hadn't heard about them yet, other than the names that Jane had rattled off to Weller. Marcos and Oscar were the names from Jane's past that their team didn't know. Marcos had been killed by a sniper. Jane had _said_ that she'd killed Oscar herself. Knowing Jane, Patterson was sure that it would have been either an accident, or self-defense.

As for the other two… Carter and Mayfair. That would be more problematic, of course. Once again, Patterson simply knew in her gut that there was more she needed to know about those two situations, and she would not convict her friend without knowing what had happened, despite Jane's claims that their deaths were her fault. She simply refused to believe it. That just wasn't Jane.

"And if _killing four people_ , and telling who knows how many lies of every shape and sizeis not enough… well…" She hesitated, not wanting to have to admit it to any of them, but knowing that she would have to, so she might as well tell Patterson now… "It's almost nothing in comparison to the rest, but..." Somehow, she felt worse about what she was about to say than almost anything else that she had to confess. _That's stupid,_ she told herself, _logically, that's one of the most inconsequential things you did._ But try as she might, she could not convince herself that sleeping with Oscar wasn't a betrayal of Kurt, despite the fact that they'd never shared more than a kiss. They'd shared something far _more_ important, as far as she was concerned – a connection that could not be described in words.

Looking into Patterson's eyes, she forced the words out. "I slept with Oscar. _Me_ , Jane. Not just the me from before…" She looked down at the table once again in shame. "Kurt reached out to me, he tried, and I pushed him away. _To save his life_ , yes, but… No, it's no excuse. I should have told him everything. We could have done something about it, the team." She paused, but Patterson could tell that she wasn't finished. "And I know he went back to Allie… because of me…" Letting out a strangled sob, she added, "I guess that seeing them was just another part of my punishment…"

"Jane," Patterson interjected, but once again, Jane cut her off. Her voice was suddenly far more forceful than it had been to that point.

"No, at some point, no matter how good my intentions, it stops being enough to make up for the things I've done. Good intentions are _not enough._ " Jane bit her lip, hard, trying to keep her emotions in check.

Patterson sighed, hating to admit that Jane might have a point, and that another pep talk just then would fall on deaf ears. How _would_ all this work out? Despite the terrible mess that Jane had been forced into against her will, would she end up being prosecuted for them anyway? She might be right about good intentions not being enough… Patterson's earlier confidence began to seep out of her.

"Maybe not," she conceded quietly, putting her hand on Jane's shoulder. "But you're not alone anymore, Jane. That has to count for something. As for the rest… I guess we'll just have to wait and see." Jane's suddenly somber mood had now been transferred to Patterson as well, and the air in the room was heavy with unspoken worries about the future.

"Yeah," Jane whispered. After that, they sat side by side in silence.


	13. Nothing to Forgive

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

KURT AND ZAPATA

They drove through the streets of Manhattan in silence. The last of the sun's rays were just disappearing and darkness was falling quickly. Every few minutes, Zapata glanced at her boss in the seat beside her, but each time, he was still sitting exactly as he had been before – staring out the window, his eyes unfocused, not actually aware of where they were or where they were headed. He _was_ slightly preoccupied, after all.

Zapata let him stay lost in his thoughts for the time being. If ever anyone had deserved to be left alone to think, it was Weller just then. However, traffic was light and before too long they had reached their destination. Zapata parked the car along the curb and climbed out, walking around the car to find that Kurt hadn't moved. He still had the same faraway look in his eyes, so chances were that he hadn't even noticed that they had stopped. _I've got my work cut out for me this time,_ she thought as she reached for the door handle.

"Weller," she said, pulling the door open, then attempting to bring him back to the present from wherever he'd gone. "You with me?"

Kurt blinked and turned to look at her, realizing for the first time that the car was no longer moving. "Yeah," he replied distractedly. He was busy looking around. Though his mind was foggy, he recognized this place.

 _Why did she pick this spot?_ he wondered. _How did she know…?_ The view from this particular spot during the day was gorgeous, and somehow at night, even though he couldn't see The Statue of Liberty on her tiny island, where it was far enough away from the shore to look small but close enough to be reached by ferry, this overlook was breathtaking in a completely different way. He glanced at the sky, but there was no moon tonight. Not like there had been _that_ night.

Zapata watched Weller and held her breath as he emerged from the car at what normally would have been an agonizingly slow pace. At that moment, however, she was in no rush. Actually, she took his snail-like pace as a good sign, because their location was obviously having the desired effect on him. She mentally congratulated herself for remembering back to one of the stories Jane had told her a long time ago about how Weller had brought her here the first night after they'd met. Her safe house hadn't been ready, and being inside the FBI building had had her crawling up the walls, so he'd taken her to the most peaceful place he could think of – one of the few places that he could go to when he wanted to think.

He looked at Zapata in disbelief as she reached around him to close the passenger door to the car and clicked on the keyfab in her hand, eliciting a sharp _chirp_ in response as the car doors locked. "How did you know about this place…. And Jane?" he asked in a whisper. He was trying to ask her how she'd known that he'd brought Jane there that night, but his mind couldn't quite form the question properly. But she understood.

The smile on her face held more than a little bit of pride. "What, you mean _besides_ the fact that I work for the FBI?" she asked him teasingly. She could see that her humor was lost on him, however, as he just continued to stare out towards the water. Undeterred in her amusement, she just shook her head, content to enjoy her joke by herself, adding simply, "Jane described it to me a long time ago. And from what I know about you… it was just another puzzle to solve. I think Patterson would be proud of me, don't you?" Kurt just nodded absently, not looking at her.

"Come on, let's walk," she said, linking her arm in hers once more. He glanced down at her as if he was surprised to find her by his side again – he was clearly more distracted than she'd anticipated, since he didn't seem to have noticed that she'd moved from where she'd stood in front of him a few seconds before.

Following the sidewalk around the small park maintenance building, they followed the same wide concrete path on which he had led Jane to the water's edge on that night so very long ago. When they reached the railing, Zapata dropped his arm, and Kurt leaned against the metal bar, looking out into the darkness. Faint lights from the buildings that were farther along the shore, where the land seemed to jut slightly out into the water, glittered in the distance. It was as if he was living that night again, except that so much was different now. It wasn't just that he was here with Zapata instead of Jane. It was… everything. What scared him was that he wasn't sure he'd be able to get back the things he'd lost since then. Some of them, he knew, were gone for good. For better or for worse, his father, for example. And Taylor…

" _It's beautiful here," Jane had said. She'd seemed to be hypnotized by the twinkling lights in the distance._

" _You should see it when it's light out," he remembered telling her as he nodded in agreement. "But this… this is pretty amazing too."_

It was bittersweet to remember that night. She'd been so fragile then, so completely lost. In a way, he supposed that she'd come full circle to that scared, lost woman he'd first met. It seemed wrong that she couldn't be there with him at that moment. And yet…

 _Would you want her here?_ he asked himself. _If it was possible, would you rather that she was here?_ After all, he had left the interrogation room because at the time, he hadn't been able to look at her any longer, not with so much swirling in his head.

His answer came with almost no hesitation, loud and clear. _Yes,_ he thought, suddenly sure, _I wish she was here._

Zapata knew that he may or may not want to talk, but that just bringing him here had been possibly the most important part she would play in helping him figure it all out. And that was OK with her, so she simply stood silently beside him for the time being.

Suddenly, he heard his own voice echo in his head. _"It's going to be okay, ma'am,"_ he had told her that night when she'd looked like she was about to break yet again. He couldn't help but chuckle, even though it tugged at his heart, to hear himself call her _ma'am_. Back then he'd known her for about twenty-four hours and already it had felt far too formal.

" _I know you don't believe me…" he remembered telling her, "But whether you believe me or not, you are going to be okay."_

 _But she isn't, is she…?_ he thought sadly. He only wished that he could have somehow kept that promise. That he could have stopped everything from going so terribly wrong. That he could make that same promise to her now, and have it be _true_. But he was far from sure of such a thing. Hell, he wished he could make that promise to _himself_ – that _he_ would be okay. But so much had happened, and who was really to say that things _could_ be okay? Not just between the two of them, but _at all_. Maybe they were too badly damaged as individuals, and maybe being together would only make it worse. Or maybe they wouldn't have that choice. Maybe the FBI would make that choice for them. Maybe they wouldn't let her out of custody. Maybe… he felt himself caught in a spiral that he couldn't get out of, and he suddenly felt himself begin to panic. There were simply too many "what-ifs."

That was when Zapata's voice cut through his thoughts with an unexpected question. "Are you more angry, or more sad?" she asked.

Kurt turned to look at her beside him, and tried to sort through the buzz in his head. Could he even separate all the things he was feeling? He looked back at her, feeling completely helpless to explain _how_ he felt. "Both," he replied slowly, "though differently than I was. I was angry with _her_ , but now I'm angry with the people who did this to her. I was sad for myself, but now I'm more sad for both of us." He looked surprised at his own words, as if he was hearing these ideas for the first time himself.

Smiling at him sadly, Zapata just nodded, watching him and waiting to see if he would say anything else. She was really just there to listen, after all. When he fell quiet, she let the silence go on for a few minutes before speaking again. "Did she tell you anything so far that you can't forgive?"

He frowned, thinking back on everything that Jane had said to him. Honestly, it was hard to remember all of the details. What had he learned so far? He tried to do a mental inventory. That she really _hadn't_ known that she wasn't Taylor… she'd been deceived right along with the rest of them. He was still digesting that fact, but if he was being fair, he couldn't hold that against her.

The fact that she had had a life before her memory was wiped, and that the person she had been had done things that were… questionable, at best… He'd known that for a long time already, it had just become clearer now – and he'd _always_ believed that it would have been unfair to hold the person she was _now_ responsible for the things she'd done when she was someone else. Now, even if she'd started to remember those things… No, it still wouldn't have fair to hold that over her.

He'd just learned about Oscar. So far it sounded like he'd been a huge piece of her past – he supposed that neither he nor Jane really knew just _how_ big a role he'd played, before – but in her present, he seemed to be doing nothing but causing trouble for Jane, even if it was to follow some plan that he'd, or they'd, or _she_ 'd made _before_. Despite the fact that she said that she was responsible for the plan, really, that had been a different person, so _Jane_ was not responsible. If she wasn't responsible for it, then there was nothing to forgive.

He'd also just learned about how she'd withheld information from him, how she'd actively lied to him about what was going on. She had lied about the things she remembered, about the people she came in contact with, about where she was going and what she was doing. So it wasn't as simple as just the fact that she had learned how to slip away from her security detail for a little freedom, as he'd thought. Maybe she had done that _because_ she wanted to meet with this Oscar guy, he now realized. It sent a chill up his spine. He didn't like it at all. This was the first issue that he'd confronted that he would even consider to be difficult to swallow.

 _Then again_ , he reasoned quickly, _she'd been afraid. Despite whatever connection we had, I was still a stranger to her. We now know that she wasn't Taylor, but even if she had been, she had no memory of me, and no real reason to trust me, not to the extent that I expected her to._ It was disappointing, in a way, but completely understandable in another. She'd watched that Marcos guy get shot right in front of her, never having had time to tell her who to be careful of, so she distrusted everyone. In her place, he may have done the same. And then, in the end, when she had been deceitful, she had done it to save his own life. Though there was no proof of this, he knew that she was telling the truth. Yes, she had lied to him in the past – but he couldn't hold a grudge, since he'd lied to her as well – also to protect her. He knew, however, that she wasn't lying now.

The last thing she'd said was something about being responsible for the deaths of four people. He'd be lying if he said that that part didn't worry him. The first one was named Marcos. She'd already pretty much already explained what had happened with him. Kurt remembered the night when he'd been called to her first safe house, the night he'd been told that someone had broken in. He'd rushed there as fast as he could, worried that something had happened to her. She'd been fine, but he couldn't forget that feeling… the feeling that he'd failed to protect her. After all, how in the world had the FBI safe house been compromised? It was a _safe house_ , for God's sake! It was supposed to be _safe_!

Jane had known Marcos _before_ , and for whatever reason, they had learned later that the man had apparently come to warn her not to trust Oscar and the rest of the group. Why he'd done that, they may never know, but it was at least enough of an answer that he could accept it. After all, Marcos had clearly been killed by a sniper, and not Jane. Jane was trying to be a martyr, taking the blame for everyone else's sins for herself. It was so very like her… _God, but she's stubborn_ , he thought, and felt a twinge in his chest.

As far as Oscar's death went, he didn't know anything yet, only that she had killed him herself. Knowing Jane, which he absolutely believed that he did, he knew that there had been extenuating circumstances. She was not malicious, and she would not have killed him for no reason. Especially since they had been… engaged.

Even in his mind, he couldn't bear to hear the word "engaged" in reference to Jane and Oscar. He thought back once again to the day of the mission at Rich Dotcom's party. Before they'd left the office, as they stood in the elevator, he'd slid the ring onto her finger. Not handed it to her to put on her own finger… but he'd done it for her. He'd told himself that he was just being a gentleman. And yes, Kurt prided himself on being a gentleman… but it wasn't just that. He'd felt something. The same something that he'd felt when they were dancing, moving gradually closer and closer, until their cheeks were nearly pressed together. He marveled over how completely he'd denied it to himself at the time, and how obvious it seemed now.

And so, as far as Oscar's death went, we could not yet make a judgement – but he was satisfied with giving her the benefit of the doubt until he could learn more.

The last two names on her list of four were extremely troubling, of course. There was Carter, the pain in the ass CIA officer who'd seemed to make it his personal mission to make their lives miserable the previous year. It had been a relief when he'd disappeared, except that he'd then turned up dead. Once again, he refused to believe that Jane had had malicious intentions toward the man, despite Carter's seeming vendetta against them. Whatever had happened, he knew it was not as simple as Jane just killing him to get rid of him. Besides, she would simply _not_ do that.

And then there was Mayfair. This, of course, was the part of everything she'd told him that had troubled him the most. He had looked up to Mayfair for as long as he'd worked under her – until not so long ago when he'd found out about Daylight. He still couldn't believe that she'd allowed herself to get mixed up in it, no matter how good her intentions had been. It was simply impossible – Mayfair had been one of the good guys… before she'd made some bad choices.

The thing that suddenly occurred to him, however, was that he would never have thought Mayfair was capable of something like Daylight. As far as he had been concerned, Mayfair had been beyond reproach. And he'd just gotten done thinking the same thing about Jane. _She would never do something like that_. But if he could be wrong about Mayfair, could he also be wrong about Jane? It was a chilling thought, and he pushed it out of his mind just as quickly as it came.

He'd never heard anything about a problem of any kind between Jane and Mayfair. Their boss had been skeptical of Jane at first, but she had seemed to warm up to her as Jane had become a member of the team and had proved herself to all of them. Clearly, there was a lot that he didn't know about what had happened. Jane hadn't said that she'd killed Mayfair herself, however, only Oscar, so that was yet another reason not to jump to conclusions.

So of the four people whose deaths Jane felt so responsible for, was there anythingthat he knew so far that he couldn't forgive? The honest answer to that part of Zapata's question was "not yet." He couldn't decide for sure without more information – probably a _lot_ more information.

Kurt heard Zapata's words in his head again.

" _Did she tell you anything so far that you can't forgive?"_

He'd been silent for at least five minutes when he finally looked back up at her. She'd been looking out at the water, waiting patiently for him to answer. It sounded like a simple question, but she knew that he was weighing every part of what he'd learned that day carefully before answering. It was just how he worked, and what made him so good at his job. He was thorough. But beyond that, he needed to work through everything she'd confessed so far methodically to get things straight in his own head.

"No," he said quietly, "at least, not yet." He looked relieved, and he was. That was what terrified him about this whole thing – he was afraid that Jane would tell him something that they wouldn't be able to come back from. He didn't want to spend the rest of his life angry with her… angry with himself… He didn't want to spend the rest of his life wishing for what they had had, because he knew for certain that he wouldn't find it again.

Zapata smiled at him then, feeling relieved as well. Though she'd promised Patterson that she'd bring him back to talk to Jane, and though she'd had every intention of doing just that, there was, of course, no guarantee that everything would go as planned. There was no guarantee that he would have calmed down and been able to think rationally and that he would be as calm as he now seemed. Confused, yes, but most importantly, calm.

"You look like hell, Weller. You want me to drop you off at home so you can get some sleep?" she asked. Jane would be impatient, but surely she couldn't begrudge the poor guy a little bit of sleep... But Zapata had a feeling that he wouldn't go for it, being the workaholic that he was. This otherwise innocent question was also a way to test out how exactly he was feeling toward Jane at that moment.

"No, thanks, Zapata," he replied without taking time to truly consider the option. "Let's head back. Jane and I aren't finished." She glanced at him and nodded.

 _Well there's your answer, Zapata. They're not finished… in more ways than one._

"Glad to hear it, Weller," she replied, shoving him with her shoulder good naturedly as they turned to walk back toward the car. This time, Kurt linked his arm through hers, prompting a look of surprise from Zapata. He nodded at her, and they continued on to the car.

JANE AND PATTERSON

The two women had been sitting side by side at the table, not speaking, and staring into space for quite some time when Patterson's phone buzzed in her pocket. The room was so still that the noise and the vibration made her jump slightly. Jane watched her take her phone out and unlock the screen, then watched as a wide smile spread across her face. She turned her hand so that the screen faced Jane, and Jane read the short message for herself.

 _Weller is calmed down. We're heading back. See you soon._

A pained smile replaced the deep frown that had sat on Jane's face while they'd sat lost in their own thoughts. It was good news, of course. But round two was coming… and she wasn't sure that it wouldn't be even harder than round one had been. There were still _so many_ things that she needed to tell him, so many things that if it were her, she wouldn't be able to forgive. Hell, there were so many things that she'd done that she couldn'tforgive _herself_ for, and she wasn't even the one that the things had been done _to_. Weller would be well within his rights to want nothing more to do with her. And while she could see it as a distinct possibility, it terrified her. She bit her lip, trying to remember all the reassuring words that Patterson had said to her, but finding only her own words about good intentions not being enough.

Patterson looked over at Jane and saw that she was shaking slightly, and looking like another round of panic was about to overtake her. "Jane," she said, looking at her friend seriously, "listen to me. We know you. Not just me, all of us. Weller too. We know _you._ _Jane_. You are not _her_ – that girl without a name _._ What you've been through is _horrible_ and unfair. It's hard for both of you. But at least give him a chance to make up his own mind, okay? He may surprise you."

There was a hint of desperation in Patterson's voice. She didn't know what else to say, but she felt that it was important to keep Jane calm. They had a long night ahead of them, after all. _We can do this,_ Patterson thought determinedly. If she could just keep Jane calm… that, of course, was much easier said than done.


	14. The Worst Secret

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: There is extreme cuteness in this chapter. But first, extreme angst and pain. Because that's just how mean I am. ;) Also, if you are prone to cavities, beware, because… well, I may have overloaded on the sweetness. Oh, and this probably should have been broken up into three or four chapters, but I couldn't do it. So it is once again a record setting chapter for me… and I'll admit it's a little cheesy… but I'm not at all sorry._

JANE AND PATTERSON

Only a few seconds after Patterson had showed Jane the text from Zapata that said that she and Kurt were on their way back, the lock on the door of the interrogation room clicked open loudly. There was no way it was Kurt and Zapata so soon, so the women looked up in surprise, thinking that maybe Reade had come back to check on them.

Jane's face fell when she saw two of the same guards who usually escorted her to and from her cell. Patterson didn't understand at first what was going on, but Jane did.

"Guess I have to go back in the cage," she told Patterson, suddenly feeling exhaustion and defeat set in.

Patterson looked from one of the uniformed men to the other. "Hey, what's going on? She's not done talking to Agent Weller!"

"We were informed that Agent Weller had left the building," one of them replied. "When he gets back, he can decide whether he wants her back in here. For now, we've been told to take her back to her cell."

Patterson sighed in exasperation. "He's with Agent Zapata, and she _just_ texted me that they're on their way back right now!" She held up her phone as proof of what she said, but the men didn't even look at it. They were focused on Patterson. Her voice was rising along with her frustration levels.

The guard who had spoken before just looked at her calmly, his tone respectful but firm. "Ma'am, when Agent Weller gets back, he can do as he sees fit. But we don't know for sure how long they'll be. She was brought in here for interrogation. Agent Weller isn't here to interrogate her. Therefore, we've been ordered to take her back."

Patterson just stared at him for a second, flustered, and then looked helplessly back and forth between the guard and her friend as she moved to stand up. By now, Jane knew the drill. She stood in front of them and put her wrists together behind her back, facing away from Patterson, towards the door. That was perhaps the worst part of this, being treated like, and _feeling_ like, a criminal in front of her friend.

"Jane, he'll be back soon. I'll tell him what happened," Patterson called after her as the three of them walked toward the door.

"Thanks, Patterson," Jane replied without looking back. She couldn't bring herself to face her like that. Not when she was in _handcuffs._

Patterson couldn't help but think that Jane's voice suddenly sounded very small, and she watched in dismay as the two men led Jane out of the room, around the corner and out of sight.

JANE

All of the encouraging words that Patterson had said to her since Kurt had left so abruptly flew out her head as she was escorted from the interrogation room with a guard on each side of her, holding onto her arms. _How could any of us have thought that this is going to be alright?_ her mind screamed. _Don't you see where you are? Have you forgotten all of the things that you've_ _ **done**_ _? Nothing is alright! Nothing is going to_ _ **be**_ _alright!_

As her tiny cell came into view, she felt the familiar knot in her stomach return. The closer they got to the cell, the tighter the knot pulled, until, as the door was unlocked and she walked inside, she felt like she was going to be sick. This happened _every time_ they brought her back here. The only thing she had to be grateful for was that she didn't have to share the cell with anyone else, and that none of the other cells nearby were being used, meaning that she didn't have to deal with anyone else, just her own misery.

Holding her still-handcuffed wrists up to the bars behind her, she heard the small key click in the metal, and then felt her wrists freed. She turned around in time to see the guards nod at her, and she bobbed her head at them just enough to be considered a shadow of a response. They were nice enough.

 _At least they don't twist the handcuffs so that they chafe your wrists, the way Kurt did, the night he arrested you…_ She cringed slightly at the thought, and tried not to let it bother her, but it was just another of the many ways she spent her time in her cell torturing herself. No, the guards were respectful and, while not friendly, also not hostile. It wasn't _their_ fault that she was in there, after all. They were just doing their jobs.

No, this was all _her_ fault. And now that she'd started spilling her secrets, _everyone_ knew it.

The events of the day were quickly catching up with her, and without the adrenaline or the encouragement from Patterson that had been keeping her going for the past few hours, she decided that it would be a good idea to sit down on the bunk that took up half of her cell before she fell down. Sinking onto the thin mattress, wanting to once again make herself as small as possible, she pulled herself into the fetal position and tried not to think.

That, of course was impossible. She held herself together for a little while, but slowly, as the thoughts about just what her reality was going to be like going forward crept into her brain, she began to shake. Before she knew it, there were tears running down her face, and she didn't try to stop them. They left tracks across her cheeks and soaked into the mattress below her. Once again, she wondered if she could wish herself into oblivion. Even knowing that it was impossible, she continued to try.

KURT, ZAPATA AND PATTERSON

Patterson was waiting by the elevator when Kurt and Zapata stepped off. They stopped, looking at her in confusion, suddenly worried. _If Patterson's standing here, then what's happening with Jane?_ they both wondered.

Answering the question they had yet to ask, Patterson skipped the pleasantries and got straight to the point. "Right after you texted me that you were coming back," she said, looking at Zapata, "these two guards came in and said that since Jane was there for interrogation, but Weller had left the building, they were taking her back to her cell. At least until he got back."

"Shit," Kurt swore under his breath. Patterson couldn't help but notice that he was looking much more like himself than he had when they'd left, except that he was now looking much more like the _pissed off_ version of himself. "That's my fault."

"Weller, you needed a break," Zapata reminded him. Then, raising an eyebrow at him, she asked, "You good to go?"

"Yeah," he replied gruffly. He was obviously exhausted, and now he was angry at himself for letting Jane be taken back into lock up, but at least he could now form complete sentences. "Thanks, Zapata," he said, giving her a meaningful look for about two seconds before adding, "I owe you one."

"You owe me more than one, Weller, and don't you forget it," she told him, which elicited what counted as a smile from Kurt – in other words, the slightest upward movement at the corners of his mouth – and a slight nod. Most of the time, the only one who got any more of a smile than that from him was Jane, to whom his focus had already shifted.

"Right," he replied simply. With that, he strode off down the hall toward lock up.

ZAPATA AND PATTERSON

"Is he okay?" Patterson asked, coming to stand beside Zapata as they watched their boss make his way quickly out of sight.

"I think so. He needed to sort everything out, but he seems a lot better." She replied. Turning to look at Patterson, Zapata asked, "How's Jane?"

Patterson grimaced, throwing up her hands. "Honestly, she's still kind of a mess. I'd get her to calm down, and it would last a few minutes… and then she'd think of something else would get her upset again. She's _scared_. Scared of how Weller's going to react to all the things that she has to tell him." Patterson sighed and shook her head sadly. Turning to look at Zapata, she asked, "Do you think he's ready to hear _more_ things he doesn't want to hear?"

Looking back at her quizzically, Zapata wondered what Patterson was referring to. "Is there something specific that she told you?"

Patterson nodded slowly, looking at the ground. "Yeah. She…" She stopped for a second, feeling guilty for telling her friend's secret. But it wasn't going to be a secret much longer, and with Jane's current status, unfortunately, there could no longer be any secrets, anyway. Personal or not, it was all now part of the FBI investigation. "She slept with Oscar. Recently. I think she's more afraid to tell Weller _that_ than anything else, no matter how horrible any of the other stuff might be."

" _Shit_ ," Zapata whispered.

"Yeah…" Patterson agreed with a sigh.

"Should we go down to interrogation? Think they'll end up down there?" Zapata asked.

"I guess it's worth a shot," Patterson replied. It seemed likely, anyway… unless he stayed and talked to her in her cell… "Should we go get Reade? He made himself scarce when I went in to talk to Jane. I think the tears scared him away…"

Zapata rolled her eyes and smiled distractedly at the mental picture of her partner shying away from a hysterically crying woman. "Yeah," she agreed. "Good idea."

The two women walked in silence toward Reade and Zapata's workstations in search of their teammate, before once again heading to the interrogation rooms. An impending sense of dread hung in the air, and it was clear that it was going to be a _very_ long night.

JANE AND KURT

The halls were silent at that time of night as Kurt made his way back toward the secured lock up area. He showed his ID and went through the barred door, then continued into the labyrinth of aisles that separated the cells from each other. Two guards accompanied him, since he'd told them that he intended to bring her back out to the interrogation room with him. Finally, they turned the corner and came into view of Jane's very isolated cell. At first he thought she wasn't there, and alarm bells started ringing wildly in his head. Then he realized that no, she was there… but she'd curled herself tightly into a ball on her bunk. He immediately got the feeling that he wasn't going to convince her to go anywhere, not anytime soon, anyway.

Turning to the guard to his right, he said, "Change of plan. Doesn't look like she's ready to go back to interrogation. I want to talk to her here."

The guard nodded his agreement. "Go ahead," he told him.

 _Clearly,_ Kurt thought, _this man doesn't understand what I mean._ "No," Kurt replied, "I need to go in the cell. You can lock me in, it's fine. I'm not in any danger." After all, he wasn't afraid of Jane.

The guard looked at him unsurely, as if the idea of voluntarily being locked in the cell with its occupant was more than a little bit crazy. "Alright sir, but one of us will be back to check on you periodically," the guard told him sternly. "And if you need anything…" He didn't seem to like the idea.

"It'll be fine," Kurt replied gruffly. He supposed he could understand their concern, because when she wanted to be, Jane _could_ certainly be very dangerous… Still, he felt insulted on Jane's behalf at the implication that he might be in danger with her.

The guard unlocked the door, which swung open with a loud _creak_. Jane hadn't moved through their whole conversation, hadn't seemed to even know that they were there. She remained curled tightly into herself, and now that he was closer, he could see her shaking. He felt as though he was being stabbed in the heart all over again, just as he had when Jane had said that she had tried to be Taylor… _for him_.

He stepped inside the cell, which felt like a shoebox. It was the length and width of a twin bed, half of which was taken up by the narrow bunk that she had curled herself up on. He was startled when the bars _clanged_ loudly as they were locked behind him, and he looked around at the remaining portion of the space. Besides the bed, there was a toilet and a sink in one corner, and the other corner was empty – the one where Jane liked to sit on the floor. That was it.

In one small step he was already beside her bunk, and in order to be at the same level with her he had to either kneel on the floor in front of her or perch on the edge of her bed beside her – which was only possible because she was so small, and had pulled into herself so tightly, becoming even smaller. He knew that this wouldn't be anything resembling a quick conversation, and that his knees weren't as forgiving as they'd once been… So he really didn't have a choice at all but to sit by her – as hesitant as he felt about getting so close to her immediately. _Not_ because he didn't want to, but because he wasn't at all sure how she would react to his proximity. She'd shaken off his hand earlier, after all.

 _As if you need an excuse to sit near her_ , something inside him said sarcastically.

On one hand, he wouldn't have hesitated to move closer to her – it was as if a force that he could barely resist was drawing him in. At the same time, he was wary of doing anything that would upset her further, which included getting too close if that wasn't what she wanted. They were in a strange sort of limbo, and he didn't know where they stood with each other. And so, when he crouched down to perch on the edge of the bed beside her, attempting to place as little of himself actually on the bunk as possible without losing his balance, he did so slowly and carefully.

She knew that he was there. There was no mistaking his voice as he spoke to the guards, and even this late in the day, she could still smell the remnants of his cologne, just as she had when he'd arrived earlier. So, he had come back after all. She wondered exactly what he was going to do, and what his reaction would be to what she'd told him so far. Her curiosity almost convinced her to open her eyes and look at him, but somehow it felt so much safer where she was, wrapped up protectively in a little cocoon where the real world couldn't get to her. No, she decided, she was going to stay right where she was.

"Jane," he whispered. "It's me."

When she heard his voice, she was dismayed to find that the sound of it caused her physical pain, as her chest began to ache unbearably. She wished he would just go away and leave her there in her agony. There was nothing he could do for her, after all. Without trying, she felt as if her eyelids pulled themselves even more tightly closed, and the knot in the pit of her stomach felt as though it had its own gravity, pulling the rest of her body toward it so tightly that her muscles shook. _Someone make it stop_ , she begged silently. Somehow, though she hadn't thought it was possible, this was even worse than when he had left her without a word in the interrogation room.

He swore that her eyes squeezed closed even _tighter_ in the seconds after he'd spoken, and that she seemed to shake a little harder. It was agony for him to watch her like this, and he wracked his brain to think of what would be the best thing to do. He wasn't good with crying women, as dealing with Sarah and her emotional outbursts over the years had made abundantly clear to him. He knew, however, that his instincts when it came to Jane were usually right.

Still, it came as a great surprise to him when, after only a few seconds, his left hand moved slowly to her head, it was as if it was moving of its own accord. He hadn't _thought about_ doing it, he had simply done it, but couldn't have said why. His hand started at the top of her head, gently smoothing her hair all the way down to her neck, then repeated the movement.

"Jane," he whispered again, "talk to me."

He might as well have been turning a knife in her heart, the way she felt, because those four words – as softly and caringly as he said them, felt as though they were cutting into her. _He can't help me. No one can._ She told herself that she couldn't give in to his comfort, because she knew that it would only hurt even _more_ when she lost it again, and she simply could not endure the thought of anything hurting worse than this. So she continued to resist, but it became more and more difficult.

Despite her determination to resist the comfort he was trying to show her, she was unable to fight the calm feeling that came over her because of the simple motion of smoothing her hair. She felt herself slowly stop shaking, and against her better judgement she allowed herself to enjoy the feeling of his hand moving gently over her hair. She knew that she would regret it, but she simply couldn't fight it any longer.

This technique for calming a hysterical subject certainly wouldn't be considered following protocol for a situation that was allegedly an interrogation, he knew, but then again, nothing about Jane's case had ever resembled normal. After a few minutes of stroking her hair, he let his hand rest just past the top of her head, so that he could move his thumb back and forth across her temple, keeping the rest of his hand still on her head. She'd seemed to calm down, though her eyes were still closed tightly. However, they were no longer _squeezed_ closed, nor did she seem to be shaking, so he supposed that that was progress.

When his hand stopped moving, she was sure that he was getting ready to remove it from her head, having achieved his goal of calming her down – or so she assumed. Instead, to her surprise, his thumb began to trace back and forth on her temple. Once again, she tried not to allow herself to surrender to the feeling, because she liked it far, far too much and she knew it. Surely he must know the effect this would have on her. They'd never talked about it, but he'd always done his most effective job of calming her down with physical contact. Nothing risqué or inappropriate, just simple things, like holding her hand or hugging her. But despite the fact that they'd never discussed it, she somehow knew that he knew as well.

She expected him to stop what he was doing any second, but mercifully, he kept brushing his thumb gently against her temple. It was so soothing, and she was so tired, she started to wonder if she was going to be so relaxed that she would fall asleep. "Okay, then," he told her quietly, "just listen first. I'll take a turn talking." His voice was low and raspy, the way it only seemed to get when he talked to her. For what seemed like a long time now, she'd been trying to make herself forget how much she loved hearing that voice. Now that she had no choice but to listen, it was like music to her ears.

"You gave me a lot to think about earlier, and I guess I didn't handle it very well…" After a pause, he continued, though she could hear a slight hesitation in his voice. "I've been so angry, this past week and a half. I don't… I know that I don't handle that kind of thing well." _Well that's kind of an understatement…_ he thought as he paused again for a second. "I wish…"

He stopped yet again, trying to find the right words, not wanting to say anything that would make her feel worse if he could avoid it, but needing for them to be honest with each other. He wanted to say that he wished that she'd told him what was going on all along, the same way she'd told him she knew that she _should have_ told him what was happening. And while he _did_ wish this, it seemed unnecessary to tell her that just then. He could see that she already felt badly enough. Come to think of it, he wished for a lot of other things… but wishing wasn't going to help fix this.

So he started a different train of thought instead. "I'm sorry that I walked out before. I didn't mean to scare you. I just… it was… _too much_. I couldn't process it all, sitting there. I had to get some space and think…" He looked down at her, and despite the fact that they were locked in a tiny FBI jail cell, despite the fact that he _himself_ had arrested her and that she'd been branded a traitor… despite everything, all he saw was Jane – a beautiful woman who could make him forget about literally everything else. All he could think was that she was desperately sad, and it was in large part because of him. Suddenly, a wave of guilt overwhelmed him for his part in all of this. In his grief and anger fueled mania, he'd been unable to see how anyone but him had been hurt by everything that had happened. Now, however, he could see clearly that she was shouldering the blame herself, not asking anyone else to share it with her, even though a large part of it also lay with him.

"Jane, I'm _sorry…"_ His voice broke as he tried to make himself speak, again in a whisper – normal voices didn't seem appropriate in their surroundings. He'd intended to be more articulate, but found that he couldn't get find any other words that did justice to the guilt that had overcome him without warning. He looked down at the floor, feeling discouraged at how badly he was failing in his attempts to comfort her, when he felt her shift slightly under his hand.

When he looked up from the floor at her, he found that she was watching him, having finally opened her eyes, and that they were red, bloodshot and puffy. He didn't think he's seen anyone ever look so miserable, even in his years of work with the Bureau and the many troubled people that they'd helped – or tried to help. Even Jane, herself, when she'd arrived at the FBI with no memory of anything in her life hadn't looked as heartbroken as she did just then. Those desperate eyes were searching his, and her face was filled with confusion. Finally, after a full minute of simply staring at each other, she uttered one single word.

"Why?"

"Why am I sorry? _Jane_ …" He shook his head and looked down again, unable to even look her in the face. "I remember that you tried to tell me that you couldn't be Taylor, a long time ago… that was why I always called you Jane… but I'd forgotten that I…" He wasn't sure he could explain this to her, but he was determined to try, so he started again. "It was so long ago, now… when we first found you in Times Square. I thought from the beginning that you were Taylor because… well, everything just _fit_. And now I know, that it all fit because someone _wanted_ it to fit, they _wanted_ me to be convinced… and when I found out… and my _dad_ … and…" Now it was Kurt's turn to lose the ability to speak in coherent thoughts, just as Jane had earlier.

His hand slid off of her head, and she immediately missed the warmth of it. He had _always_ had that effect on her. She watched as he closed his eyes and took a deep breath, leaning forward, away from her. He rested his forearms on his knees and hunched his shoulders forward.

Somewhere in the last few minutes she'd become so calmed by his touch and so mesmerized by the guilt with which he was so obviously torturing himself, she'd forgotten that he'd been the one reaching out to _her._ Suddenly, it was as if just sitting beside each other, they had traded places, and now she was the one feeling that she needed to reach out to _him_.

 _Sometimes we're so much alike, it's a wonder that we're not the same person_ , she thought as she watched what she could only imagine was almost exactly the way she had reacted to her own feelings of guilt just a few hours earlier.

Without saying a word, she leaned over just enough to put her right hand in his left, which was the closer of his hands to her. Her hand was much smaller than his, but she squeezed gently, letting the gesture speak for itself. He looked up at her in surprise, and for a few seconds they just stared at each other, not sure what to do or say next. She was surprised at herself for being so bold, but she had no doubt that it had been the right move.

He tried to smile, though it didn't reach his eyes, and he began again, in a voice that was barely a whisper. "I was so angry. With my father, for doing something so horrible, for lying to me my entire life… With myself, for not being able to find the truth no matter how hard I tried, for letting it happen in the first place…" She squeezed harder on his hand, hating that the things that she had done had exacerbated trauma that he'd been living with most of his life. "And then… because I had never really questioned whether or not you were Taylor – I'd just _known_ …" He shook his head and scoffed at what he now felt was his own stupidity, then continued. "I'd never had room in my head for the idea that I was wrong… because you're right, I _wanted_ you to be her." He looked up at her uncertainly, hoping that she wouldn't take it the wrong way.

She froze for a second, unsure of the implications of what he was telling her. Yes, it had been pretty clear that he'd wanted her to be Taylor, but he'd never come out and said as much. And now that they both knew for sure that she wasn't, what did that mean for… them? It was one of her oldest fears come back to life.

It was his turn to squeeze _her_ hand reassuringly. "And that doesn't mean that you mean any less to me than you did when I thought you were her. I just…" He stared out through the bars, trying to find the right words. "I wanted closure. I wanted to know that I had fixed the wrong that I'd done so long ago, finally."

She opened her mouth to interrupt him, to argue, but he looked back at her and shook his head, knowing exactly what she was going to say. "I know, I know. _It wasn't my fault._ People have told me that my whole life. It didn't matter though, because I _always_ felt like it _was_ my fault, no matter that logically a ten year old can't be held responsible for anticipating the behavior of…" He swallowed hard. Even after believing for twenty-five years that his father had been guilty, it was hard to have it confirmed. But he continued. "A psychopath." Looking back at the floor, he took a slow, deep breath and then looked back at her.

"I want you to know that you not being Taylor… that doesn't change anything. Yes, I hoped you were her, but that was selfish of me. We thought you _were_ , because the evidence said you were." For a second, he thought guiltily about the isotope test that they'd never told her about it. He would, too, but not that second.

"But Jane…" He'd said the word _Taylor_ so many times in the past few minutes, and even though he hadn't been directing it at her, it somehow felt like a relief to say her "real" name. _Jane_ , just the word itself, brought him an entirely different set of emotions than _Taylor_ did. _Taylor_ brought him guilt and stress and sadness. _Jane_ , on the other hand, brought him… _peace_ … and at that moment, a little guilt too, for what she'd gone through because of him. But he hoped that he could make up for that.

"The fact is, even though you were never Taylor, there was always a…" _How can I describe it? Can she feel it, too?_ He'd always assumed that she could, judging from the way she stared into his eyes, but maybe that was just him projecting… he couldn't be sure. _You're losing it, Weller_ , he told himself.

"Yeah," she replied. "There was." She smiled at him reassuringly. "There _is_." She pushed herself to sit up, not letting go of his hand, and just continued to watch him carefully.

He smiled tiredly at her, surprised, but at the same time… not surprised. _It's impossible that she knows what I'm talking about… and yet… she does. Of course she does._

"I thought that it was because you were Taylor that I felt that… whatever it is. I assumed that was the reason. But I was wrong. It wasn't because you were Taylor. It was because…" He thought about it for a minute, but came up with no explanations. "I don't _know_ why. But it doesn't matter."

Jane shook her head slightly in agreement. It didn't matter where their connection came from. What mattered was that despite everything, it was still there.

"So…" he continued, his face becoming serious again, "when I found out that you _weren't_ Taylor, I just…" He waved his free hand in the air, the words temporarily deserting him. "I guess I was ready to blame everyone but myself."

She shook her head, while keeping her hand firmly in his. "No, I gave you a lot of reasons to be angry." They were facing each other now, his left leg against her left leg, pressed together out of necessity due to the small size of the bunk. "I—"

" _No_ ," he replied, cutting her off with a sudden emphasis that surprised her. "You _don't_ get to apologize for trying to save my life, Jane. We make the best choices we can at the time when we have to make them, and you did. You have to forgive yourself."

She bit her bottom lip, considering his words. Could she really let go of so much guilt? More importantly, could _he_? Could he really forgive her for so much? She hadn't even told him everything yet, so it was really too early to say…

"Can _you_?" she asked simply, suddenly looking very nervous.

Instead of replying to her question, he smiled slightly. "When Zapata and I left, she took me to that little park… that overlook that you and I went to that first night, when we had to wait hours for your safe house to be ready, because no one had thought about it until I asked. Do you remember?"

She smiled at him, not sure what this had to do with what she'd asked him, and nodded. "Of course," she whispered. _How could I forget?_ She was pretty sure that there would be an answer in there somewhere, so she just listened.

 _At least he didn't say 'No,'_ she thought.

"You were so lost that night, and when Zapata and I were there… as overwhelmed as I was with everything, I couldn't help but remember. I think it was Zapata's Hail Mary, to try to get me to put my head back on straight… to sort things out." He wasn't looking at her, just off somewhere, remembering. He smiled at the idea of what Zapata had done for him, not having realized it until just then. "While we were there, she asked me if you'd told me anything that I couldn't forgive," he said, glancing around the cell, and beyond the bars. He'd honestly forgotten that they were inside a jail, having been focused only on Jane.

Jane held her breath. That was exactly what she wanted to know, just in slightly different words. He was _acting_ like everything was good… but until he said it out loud, she wouldn't be sure. Even then…

"I went through everything in my head, one by one… it was how I sorted through it all, I guess. There are things I want you to tell me more about," he said, choosing his words carefully. She nodded, feeling like that was probably an understatement. "but as far as anything that I can't forgive?" He paused at looked at her, only then realizing how afraid she looked, and remembering how hard it had been for her to say the things that she'd already said. Smiling at her fondly, he shook his head. "No, Jane."

He reached up to tuck a strand of hair behind her ear without thinking, and then waited to see how she would react. Her eyes followed his hand as it moved slowly towards her face, as if she wasn't sure what he would do. When he'd finally replaced the offending strand of hair in place, he stopped and, almost in slow motion, touched the backs of his fingertips against her cheek.

She smiled sadly then, while simultaneously looking exhausted, and he imagined that he must look just as tired. Just as he was starting to think that the rest of the conversation could surely wait until morning, the smile on her face melted away, and once again she looked completely miserable. She dropped her hand from his and pulled her knees up in front of her, winding her arms around them tightly, as if she suddenly felt that she had to protect herself once again. It had become her favorite defensive way to sit over the past ten days, holding the rest of the world at bay. The only difference now was that her head wasn't down. Instead, she was looking at him with, once again, the saddest expression he thought he'd ever seen.

"What's wrong?" he asked quietly, not understanding what had just happened. He tried to take her hand, but she had both of hers locked around herself and wouldn't let go. She started shaking her head again, and suddenly the tears had started… Something in her head was obviously upsetting her.

He tried to think of all the things that she'd told him earlier, before he'd stormed out, trying to think if it could be any of those. There had been a lot of heavy information to digest, but as he'd just told her, he'd made peace with it. He knew there was a lot more to come, but he couldn't imagine that anything else she could have to tell him that could be so much _worse_ than what she'd said already.

He scooted himself all the way on to the bed so that he was sitting directly in front of her, turning so that they were face to face. Moving closer to where she had pressed her back up against the wall, but still leaving space between them, he watched her in confusion. He didn't want her to feel cornered, but he didn't want her to feel so far away, either. He reached his right hand up to her left bicep, then moved his hand gently between her shoulder and her elbow. "Okay," he said, seeing that she was once again stuck in her head and didn't seem to be able to tell him what was wrong. "How about this? Think of the one _worst_ secret, the very worst one, that you have to tell me. The absolutely _most_ terrible. Start with that one. And then after that, everything else will be easier." It seemed so simple, though he knew that it would feel anything but simple to her.

She looked at him desperately, wishing that she could somehow make him understand that he didn't _want_ her to tell him the worst thing. Honestly, she'd prefer to just stay in jail indefinitely than to have to hurt him again that badly. "I can't," she said in a choked whisper, and put her head down on her knees, so that she could no longer see him.

He chuckled softly, which confused her, but she was too tightly wound up to let herself look back up. He let go of her arm and slid himself closer to her still, closing the distance between them and feeling her tense up slightly. He was not going to allow her to keep doing this to herself. Eventually she was going to see that she couldn't push him away.

Kurt leaned forward towards her, so that his chin almost rested on her knees – since she had pulled her legs in so tightly, this was not nearly as difficult as it may have been otherwise – and, since she'd pulled her head down to her knees, thereby bringing it closer to him, he was able to speak almost directly into her ear.

"You used to think you couldn't do a lot of things, Jane Doe…" he began gently. "You didn't think you could speak Chinese, or Russian, or Bulgarian. You didn't think you could dance. For a whole five minutes, you may even have thought that you couldn't kick someone's ass, either. Two or more people at once, even. But you know what I've learned about you? You can do all of those things, and a lot more – even when you don't think that you can. So to hear you tell me that you can't tell me whatever you think the worst secret you've kept is…" He shook his head ever so slightly and continued. "Jane, I _know_ you can. It's only words." He paused for a second, allowing what he'd said to sink in, but didn't move away from her. She seemed to relax slightly, so he added, "Whatever it is, it's already done, right?"

She brought her head up slightly, just enough to peer up at him. He leaned back so that he could see her face, only inches away from his own. She nodded slowly, and he smiled at her encouragingly, both of them staying exactly where they were, despite how unusually close together their faces were. He continued talking in a whisper. "Okay, good. Now look at us here, locked in this tiny little shoebox of a cell, in the middle of FBI headquarters. _Together._ " Her eyes darted around quickly, then came back to him. "No chance of snipers, or of anything else getting to you. We're safe in here, aren't we?"

He had a brief flashback to Saúl Guerrero's death in their custody, but he pushed it from his mind. There was no way he was letting anyone hurt Jane, even if they _could_ get in there. Besides, the chances of that being able to happen again were practically zero. Security was much tighter since then.

She nodded slightly, but still didn't raise her head any farther than the little bit that she already had. "Good. Now… do you trust me?" he asked, honestly not sure of how she would answer.

It wasn't an entirely fair question, and he knew it. They had both trusted each other to the extent that their lifelong baggage had allowed them to, whether it was due to too much baggage in his case, or too little in hers. They'd also both lied to each other, and he hadn't even had a chance to even confess any of his lies yet. Still, he looked into her eyes, their faces frozen in place with only inches separating them, his gaze not wavering from her for a second. They had both made mistakes, but he honestly could not think of _anything_ that would prevent him from staying exactly where he was and hearing every single thing she had to say. Experience tried to whisper into his ear to be careful what he wished for, but he wasn't to be deterred.

When she nodded again, he smiled back at her, feeling like he'd been given a gift that he didn't deserve. "And, did you figure out your most horrible secret?" When she nodded immediately, Kurt knew that she must really be scared to admit to one thing in particular, because she hadn't seemed to need to think about it at all. He smiled at her, leaning his arm gently over the top of her knees, as if they were a little armrest, and then rested his chin on his arm. "Tell me," he whispered. "Please."

He was _so close_ now, even closer than he'd been before, and she suddenly felt slightly boxed in, like he was _too_ close, and like she had nowhere to retreat to. Her back was already leaned against the wall…

And then all at once, she just decided to just get it over with. "I… I don't want you to hate me when I tell you," she whispered, looking absolutely miserable.

He almost laughed, but stopped himself, seeing how terrified she was over whatever it was that she didn't want to talk about. He sat back slightly, removed his arm from her knees, and reached a hand up to her cheek. Resting his thumb in front of her ear, the rest of his fingers spread out into her hair, each slowly rubbing small circles. For a second, she felt lightheaded from his touch.

 _No…_ she thought desperately. She couldn't give in. It would hurt that much more when it all crashed down around her. She forced herself to resist the urge to get lost in the sensation. She didn't come close to deserving this, and the fact that he was being so sweet with her was torture. She needed to tell him the truth and get it over with, get on with having him hate her, like she knew that he would. But she simply couldn't bear the thought of seeing that look on his face all over again… the look of betrayal.

"That's not going to happen, okay? _It's not_. I promise."

A sudden anger coursed through her. _How could he say something like that? How could he promise not to be angry when he didn't even know what she was going to say? He might think he wanted to hear her worst secret, but as soon as she'd told him, he was going to discover that he didn't, and that he really_ _ **did**_ _hate her, despite what he'd promised._ She just knew it.

And yet, there was nothing else to be done. Closing her eyes, she tried to work up the courage to make herself say the words, which seemed a little easier when she didn't have to look at him. She felt him lean forward slightly once again, but his hand remained on her face, his fingers continuing to rub in small circles. If only she could let herself enjoy the sensation, but instead, it was actually hurting her. Seconds ticked by, and he waited as she sat in front of him, her eyes closed, taking deep breaths. As he watched her, he couldn't help but think that this intensity was one of his favorite things about her. If only she wasn't using it to beat herself up.

"You should know by now that I'm going to sit here until you talk to me," he told her. His voice came from closer than she had expected.

 _He must have leaned further forward than I realized,_ she thought.

"No matter how long it takes for you to talk to me," he added. "Even if it takes all night. And all day tomorrow. And… you get the idea." She was still a little bit unsettled by his proximity, but decided that it didn't matter. In a matter of seconds, if she told him, he'd probably get as far away from her as he could.

She grimaced slightly, and then, finally deciding that she could not torture herself anymore, took a deep breath, exhaled slowly, and with her eyes firmly shut, she forced the words out in a small voice. "I slept with Oscar. _Me. Jane_. _Not_ just the me from before. And not because he made me. I… did it on my own. I…" She'd wanted to say something by way of explanation, but words failed her then. Not _just_ words. _Explanation_ failed her. At that moment she could not even explain to _herself_ why she'd done it, much less anyone else. Her forehead dropped back onto her knees, the sudden movement pushing his hand off of the side of her face. He didn't withdraw his hand, however, he simply let it fall onto her shoulder as he sat and looked at her in disbelief.

 _ **That**_ _was her most horrible secret from this whole mess? That she'd slept with Oscar? She'd briefly mentioned four people's DEATHS for which she felt responsible earlier, but her darkest secret was sleeping with a guy who was… well sort of, but not really, her ex-fiancé?_ His head was spinning with relief. He had been confident that he would have been able to handle whatever it was – he was more prepared now than he'd been earlier – but this was… well, it was definitely a surprise. Her distress over what he considered to be – while not something he liked to hear – something so trivial in light of the big picture, simple endeared her to him that much more.

Of course, it wasn't that he didn't care. It wasn't that it didn't bother him. Hell, when he thought about it for a few seconds, after the shock and relief wore off, he found jealousy rising in him quickly. He did, of course, have the advantage of already knowing that Oscar was _dead_ , and therefore not exactly a threat. What he realized, in the next few seconds, however, was that there was something he needed to say as well.

Logically, of course, neither of them should have had to feel like these were _confessions_ that they had to make to each other. They had only kissed twice, and that was it. It wasn't as though they'd had a label on their relationship, or as if they'd had any kind of agreement on the subject. Still, it didn't matter. He knew exactly what had driven him to Allie – namely, the fact that he had somehow lost Jane – but now he suddenly felt guilt for his actions where he hadn't before. Because if Jane had considered that to be her worst secret, then what would she think of his own actions?

She was confused, because as the seconds ticked by, he still hadn't replied to her words, the ones that she had expected would send him flying far away from her, and she still felt his hand on her shoulder. She was almost curious enough to open her eyes and see his reaction, since it seemed to be so different from what she'd expected. And yet, it was so much easier, and safer, she decided, to keep her eyes closed tightly and wait.

Finally, Kurt regained the power of speech. He was going to proceed carefully, he decided, not knowing exactly what to expect. They were both on edge and exhausted, in addition to dealing with more than a few extremely emotional issues all at once. "Jane," he said in a raspy whisper. "Look at me."

His voice sounded much calmer than she'd anticipated, and his hand was still on her shoulder, so she decided that against her better judgement, she would risk it. Even still, she was almost certain that she knew what look she would see in his eyes. Bracing herself, she forced herself to open her eyes and look at him, only to find that he was staring into her own eyes as if searching for something.

"I _do not_ hate you. Okay?" He chuckled slightly. "Jane, I…" But he stopped himself. _Back up a step, Weller,_ he thought. _It's too soon for that_. "But… you're not the only one who… should confess."

She just smiled at him sadly and shook her head. "I know about you and Allie. I could tell. When I was…" she swallowed, the memory giving her a bitter taste in her mouth. "…When I was pushing you away, I realized that I pushed you towards her. It wasn't my goal, _obviously_ , but… I saw it happening, I just couldn't stop it." She was struggling to keep her voice steady, with only partial success, but she pressed on. "It's just another thing I could have avoided if I'd… if I'd told you the truth. I guess it was part of… my punishment." She looked him in the eye stubbornly, even though she wanted to look away.

But Kurt was shaking his head at her already. "No, Jane, no. You don't get to claim other people's mistakes as your own and blame yourself. That was _not_ because of you. I make my own decisions, and obviously they're not always good ones. That was me being stupid. I just…" _How do I explain it?_ he thought desperately. "I only wanted _you_. And then…" He blew out a slow breath, trying to collect his thoughts.

"And then I pushed you away. _Me_. Not you. _You_ tried to reach me. If I'd just…" she trailed off. It was too late for "if onlys" now.

"Jane Doe, you are the most stubborn person I've ever met," he said, shaking his head at her in disbelief. "When someone is threatening the life of someone important to you, it's impossible to know the right thing to do. _Impossible_. And I'm sorry that you were in that situation because of me. _Me._ Not you." He smiled at her then, hoping that he could see how much he meant the things he was saying, and added, "We're not going to argue about this all night, are we?"

She looked at him unsurely and shook her head, finally smiling back at him slightly. However strong her desire to keep all the blame for herself, she was simply too tired to argue about it anymore. She hadn't dared to hope that he would feel any other way except betrayed by her, and she wasn't quite sure what to do now that he _didn't_ hate her. It wasn't an option she'd prepared for.

"Can I tell you something?" he asked, seeing that she was close to getting lost in her own thoughts again. She nodded, looking him in the eye once again, and he continued. "It says a _lot_ about you, that you thought that that was your worst secret, especially with some of the things you only started talking about earlier." She blushed slightly, not sure what to say or how to take what he had said. "And I'm not gonna lie, I'm liking this Oscar guy less and less the more I hear about him…"

She heard what he was saying between the lines. He was making a joke out of it, but he _was_ actually jealous. It had never occurred to her that he might simply be jealous. Anything short of him hating her had never even crossed her mind. Strangely, she found that she actually liked knowing that he felt that way about her and Oscar.

"Well, luckily for you, you have nothing to worry about, because I…" she stopped abruptly, choking on the emotion that suddenly welled up inside her. Her happy thoughts came to a crashing halt. _I killed him_ , she finished the sentence in her head.

"I know," he whispered. He saw tears starting their journey down her cheeks for the thousandth time that day, and at that moment he had simply had enough of seeing her cry. He wasn't going to keep stopping himself from comforting her, _really_ comforting her, any longer. Leaning in and putting his arms around her, he pulled her closer, until she was sitting sideways on his lap. Holding on to her tightly, he then scooted himself to the corner at the end of the bed where she had just been sitting, turning so that he was now facing the same direction as the bed, and then finally adjusted the two of them so that when he finished, she was sitting on his lap, leaning back against his chest, their legs out in front of them.

"Wow," she said with a surprised smile, her tears having abruptly stopped flowing. She was looking with interest down at his arms clasped loosely around her waist. "That was pretty slick."

He chuckled, knowing it had been anything but slick. What it _had_ been was long overdue. "Very funny, Jane," he replied. "But you'll have to excuse me if I'm a little off my game today. _Someone_ has me preoccupied, and they've kept me up _way_ past my bedtime, and now I think it's time to go to sleep." He looked at his watch, and saw that it was past 1:00 am.

She turned around and looked at him over her shoulder in surprise. "You're going to stay? Here?"

Embarrassed, he blushed slightly and replied, "You're right, that was rather presumptuous of me… Would you like me to leave?" He raised his eyebrows at her, and she knew that he was joking... and yet, because she knew him, she also knew that if she wanted him to, he would absolutely leave. He'd probably go as far as his office, but after the day he'd had, it was doubtful that he would go any farther away from her than that. And he would only do it if she wanted him to.

"You… but… Are you saying that you'd stay… here? In a _cell_?" She was flabbergasted. _Just add it to the list of ways that Kurt Weller has surprised you today_ , she told herself. Her neck was starting to ache from turning so far around, and she was only partially looking at him now, since he was behind her.

He leaned down so that his mouth was just beside her ear. At first he didn't say anything, but moved ever so slightly. This small movement was just enough to rub the scruff on his face, which was longer than normal at this late hour, gently against her cheek. She shivered slightly, as he whispered, "If this doesn't prove to you that I would stay with you _anywhere_ , then I don't know what would." For a few seconds she held perfectly still, too shocked to move. When she had recovered from her temporary suspended animation, she sat up slightly so that she could turn around and look him in the face.

"You would?" She was confused, plain and simple. _How in the world was this happening?_ He couldn't help but smile broadly at her, because frankly her shock was the cutest thing he thought he'd ever seen. If he wasn't mistaken, she also looked a little unsure.

Was she a little unsure? Completely unsure was more accurate. This was way over the line that they had danced on one side of or the other for so long now. But if there was one thing she had always felt around Kurt, it was safe. And remembering that, she relaxed again.

He watched her face as it clouded over, as if she was in serious thought about something, then as her smile returned less than a minute later. Looking back up at him, she simply said, "Okay."

"Now what was I saying about sleep? I'm too tired to even remember…" he said, trying to scoot himself down onto the small mattress so that he could lay down.

She pushed herself off of his lap and toward the edge of the bed, giving him enough room to navigate what he was trying to accomplish, watching him with a mixture of amusement and amazement. He was making it all seem so… _simple_. Once he was finished moving, and was lying with his back up against the wall, one arm tucked under his head, he smiled at her and raised his eyebrows as if to say, "Come on, your turn." She glanced unsurely at the remaining half of the mattress unsurely, then back to him.

"Gonna make me work for _everything_ , aren't you?" he asked with a yawn, still smiling at her.

"Of course," she replied seriously, "It's half the fun." He rolled his eyes at her and patted the space on the mattress beside him.

"Get over here," he chuckled. She moved slowly, scooting herself in his direction while still sitting up, and only very slowly unfolding herself in front of him. She wasn't sure what she expected him to do, but when she finally laid down she was almost falling over the edge of the bed just so she could leave a few inches between them.

"Okay, first of all, that's a dangerous way to sleep, falling off the bed," he admonished her with a smile. "That floor would _not_ be the place you'd want to land. And second," he said, leaning forward to talk into her ear once again, "you're too far away." She tried to look at him over her shoulder, but the angle was awkward and she couldn't really see him. Shifting herself slowly back towards him, she wasn't really sure how far to move… and then suddenly, his arm wound around her waist, pulling her back the last little bit of the way against him, so that her back leaned against his chest. For a second she felt uncomfortable simply because she couldn't let herself relax, because _what was she doing?_ Her mind was spinning too fast. Gradually, however, she felt herself relax. After all, with Kurt was where she always felt safe, and lying there with him was no exception. In fact, it was even better.

She suddenly felt herself getting very sleepy. To say that it had been a long, emotional day – or ten – just did not cover it.

"Hey Jane, we'll talk about the rest of it tomorrow, okay?" he asked, his eyes already closing.

She nodded against him, then realized that she wanted to tell him something before he fell asleep. "Hey, Kurt?" She turned onto her back so that she was looking up at him. "Thanks… for making me tell you the worst secret first," she whispered.

He chuckled tiredly, tightening his grip on her, and said, "I'm gonna try not to let it go to my head that you not wanting me to hate you for sleeping with what's-his-name," he left out his name, in order to not trigger Jane's tears again, "beat out talking about any of that other stuff you mentioned yesterday…" He was referring to the four deaths for which she blamed herself, but he didn't want to bring that up just then, figuring that she'd probably know what he was referring to anyway. "Or anything that you _haven't_ told me yet… but I gotta say, it's gonna be hard…"

She punched him lightly in the arm, chuckling, now slightly embarrassed and not quite sure what to say, so she simply replied, "Shut up, Weller."

He leaned down and pressed a quick kiss on her lips, then brought his head back up and propped it up on his hand so that he could just watch her, his weight now on the elbow that was holding him up. With his other hand, he pushed her hair off of her forehead. "Good night, Jane."

She smiled up at him, now sure that she _must_ be dreaming, but hoping that it was one from which she wouldn't have to wake up. "Good night," she replied, turning back over and snuggling her back against his chest as he tightened his arm around her waist. It had been the most horrible, weirdest, most exhausting, most wonderful day that she could remember. There were plenty of ugly secrets left to tell, but somehow, at that moment she felt like that didn't matter at all.


	15. Mayfair

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: So, as a lot of you may know, for the last three weeks I had a pretty severe allergic reaction to some poison ivy that I hadn't realized I'd touched, which somehow inspired me to write a whole other story, dropping everything else until it was done. Now that Jane and I have recovered from that, I'm back at work on this story, so thanks for your patience. I'm so glad that I got as far in this one as I did before that Comic Con trailer for season 2 came out, because the scenes from next season show just how much crueler Martin Gero is to Jane than I am… this version of the post s1 finale is truly a kinder, gentler version (I just don't have it in me to torture them all for as long as he does) and I know season 2 will go in a completely different direction than this story, but that's okay. This is just killing time while I wait for MG to kill me all over again. And clearly, I needed a Jeller fix far more than MG did._

 _Anyway, I know that the previous chapter strayed a little bit into the "you wish!" category, but every once in a while it's nice to forget the angst for a little while and let them be happy. Or, as happy as you can be when you've gotten four people killed, betrayed the man you love but did it to save his life, and lied to everyone important to you… oh, and been arrested by said man after finding out your identity was all a lie. You know, small stuff. Chapter 14 was quite an intense one and I only hope this chapter is a comparable follow up, but I did my best. After all, there's a_ _ **lot**_ _more for her still to confess._

ZAPATA, READE AND PATTERSON

After finding Reade at his computer, Patterson and Zapata gave him a quick run-down of what he'd missed, and the three of them headed to the interrogation rooms. There they sat and waited, making idle chatter for twenty minutes or so, before they began to suspect that Jane and Kurt weren't coming out of lock-up anytime soon. Patterson suggested that they check the cameras in the security room, which would have coverage of the cells, and the other two agreed, wondering why they hadn't thought of that a while ago.

Explaining the situation to the agent monitoring the cameras, they crowded into his small space as he stepped back, allowing them access to every view of the FBI building. There were so many cameras in that building, the monitors had to scroll through their thumbnail screens, displaying the feeds in sets of twelve, for several minutes before the team found the view they were looking for: Jane's cell, set off at the far end by herself. From what they could see, Jane looked upset – which came as no surprise to Patterson – and it appeared that Weller had talked himself _into_ jail, because he was sitting in the cell with her. They were close together, but not moving.

Zapata could have easily gotten them the audio feed, tech expert that she was, but they decided not to worry about it. Knowing Weller, he would do actual interrogation in the interrogation room, so it was probably a more informal kind of conversation. It was late already, and the prospect of getting a few hours of sleep was an unexpected luxury to the three agents, all of whom were fading fast. No one had to tell them twice, so they quickly gathered their things and each made their way home. Tomorrow would be there bright and early, as always.

XXX

The next morning dawned clear and bright, and by 6:30am the three of them had reassembled. There was no sign of Weller in his office, and there were competing theories about his whereabouts. "What do you wanna bet that he slept in the cell with her?" Zapata said to the other two conspiratorially. Reade shook his head confidently while Patterson just shrugged.

"It wouldn't surprise me, at this point," Patterson allowed.

"What? No way!" Reade scoffed, sure that Weller wouldn't have done something like that. _Stay overnight in jail,_ voluntarily? Who in their right mind woulddo that, after all? "I'm not betting you anything Zapata, because I don't want to take your money, but I say no way," Reade replied.

"Well, let's just go and find out, shall we?" she replied confidently. They could have checked the monitors in the security room first, but Zapata had a feeling that this was something she was going to want to see in person.

Once again, they had their IDs checked and made their way through the levels of security, finally rounding the corner towards Jane's cell. What they saw made them stop in their tracks. There in Jane's cell, on the tiny, single mattress, was Jane, with Kurt curled up behind her, his arms around her waist, fast asleep. They tried to muffle their reactions to the scene, but it was neither very easy, nor very successful. Despite Patterson _shush_ ing them, they made enough noise to cause the pair inside the bars to stir.

"Reade, who would have taken _whose_ money?" Zapata asked in a loud whisper, slapping him on the shoulder in delight at having just won the bet that they hadn't actually made.

"Yeah, yeah, you were right…" Reade replied in defeat. Maybe he _should_ have expected this, after all.

"Guys, let's go talk to one of the guards back there about letting them _out_ , so that we can meet in interrogation," Patterson suggested, thinking that Jane and Kurt might want a minute alone. The other two agreed, but not before tossing several amused looks in the direction of the pair in the cell. Then they trooped back down the hall, the noise retreating with them.

JANE AND KURT

Jane remained where she was, staring out at the bars with Kurt behind her, his arm still around her middle. She wasn't quite sure what to do. Then she felt him stir behind her, and she was even _less_ sure what to do. "Good morning," he said softly, setting his head next to hers to speak into her ear once again. She turned her head slightly to look at him, and found their faces much closer together than she'd expected.

She simply stared into his eyes for a second before replying, "Good morning," in a whisper.

"Are you okay?" he asked unsurely, studying her face as best he could from such a close angle.

She paused for a minute, wondering if he could see the shy smile on her face from his angle. "Better than I've been in a long time," she whispered.

"Good," he whispered back, leaning forward ever so slightly so that their foreheads touched. "Me, too." They stayed that way as the seconds ticked on, knowing that they'd hear the noise of their returning coworkers along with a pair of guards in a matter of a few seconds. Until that time, however, there was something absolutely perfect about where they were.

THE TEAM

Though they were expecting it, the approaching noise of the rest of their team and the two guards that followed them around the corner only a few minutes later came much too soon. They raised their heads reluctantly and began to sit up, Jane immediately feeling the loss of Kurt's arm around her waist. The little parade – Zapata, Patterson and Reade plus two guards – rounded the corner to see Jane and Kurt already standing up inside the cell, which looked even tinier with two people inside than it had with one, awaiting their approach.

Jane was acutely aware of how close she and Kurt were standing, and yet, they were not touching at all, which made the space between them somehow simultaneously feel like a gaping chasm.

Kurt knew that Zapata, Reade and Patterson were going to find the situation beyond hilarious. He didn't regret having stayed there with her, of course, and he would have been fine with staying there a little longer if it had meant they could have gotten some more sleep... or even just a little more time with Jane.

The three agents hung back as the guards approached the cell, and Jane realized in dismay that this time, she had a full audience for her handcuffing. All of the people that she least wanted to see her that way – especially Kurt – were there.

As the guards neared the cell, Jane glanced nervously, first at Kurt, and then to where Zapata, Patterson and Reade were standing. Despite the fact that these were her friends, and people who cared about her, she couldn't help but feel self-conscious about having to be handcuffed in front of them. Or, maybe it was the reverse, perhaps it was _because_ of their close connection that she felt even worse than usual about the whole procedure. Either way, all she knew was that she felt a whole new level of stress rising inside her.

Kurt saw her glance around at the various people who were in attendance there, saw the unhappiness in her eyes, and quickly realized several things. First, Jane was suddenly extremely nervous. Second, that she must feel completely dehumanized to have to be treated like a criminal in front of the team with whom she had worked for a year now. Third, that there wasn't much he could do about it… but there was one thing.

As she backed herself up towards the spot where she had to put her joined wrists through the bars to be handcuffed, he stood in front of her, staring at her intensely and willing her to look at him. He wanted her to know that she wasn't alone in this, but she seemed determined to keep her eyes on the floor. Jane, on the other hand, was purposely avoiding looking at Kurt, not wanting to remind herself that he was seeing her this way.

However, she simply couldn't fight the urge to look up at him for very long. She felt like her eyes were drawn to him by some powerful magnetic attraction. Only a few seconds after she swore to herself that she wasn't going to look at him, she did. What she saw looking back at her took her breath away. "Keep your eyes on me," his eyes seemed to say all on their own, without any help from his mouth. But how?

He looked at her with such intensity, with his trademark partial smirk, and not the disgust that she'd somehow expected. So instead of looking away, she continued watching him as her hands were locked inside the small metal circles behind her. She noticed that he didn't look away for a second. On the contrary, he held her gaze firmly, almost making her forget where she was, or that their three other coworkers were there watching as well. In that moment, there was only the two of them. She stepped forward, away from the bars, when it was time for them to open the door, and for just a second she was that much closer to him – which still suddenly felt _much_ too far away. Being that close to him and yet unable to reach him was like torture. And then one of the guards cleared his throat and it was time for her to turn around and be led from her cell.

The guards had Jane step out of the cell and to one side, so that Kurt could go down the aisle between the cells in front of them, and the group arranged themselves into a parade of sorts. They headed back to Interrogation Room 2 – first, Patterson and Reade, followed by Zapata and Weller, with the two guards flanking Jane at the back of the procession. At the door, Reade unlocked it and held it open for the rest of them, pulling it closed behind them. By the time the guards had maneuvered Jane into the room and were ready to remove her handcuffs, Zapata, Reade and Patterson standing off to one side of the room, out of their way, she noticed that Kurt had once again positioned himself a few feet in front of her, looking into her eyes before she had the chance to shy away and attempt to be invisible.

Once again she stared into his eyes, not fighting it this time because she now understood what he was doing, as the handcuffs were removed. She was fairly sure that he couldn't fully understand what it meant to her to have had him do that, and she wasn't even sure she could explain to herself why it felt so important. She decided that it had something to do with the fact that not only was he not looking away from her, as if what was happening was somehow shameful – which in her opinion, it _was_ – but that on the contrary, what he saw happening did not define how he saw _her_ … that despite the terrible things that had happened in her life, the terrible things that she had done, that he still somehow saw her as more than the sum of her mistakes. Yes, the fact that he didn't shy away from looking at her when she was at her most vulnerable said more to her than any words could have.

After unfastening her handcuffs, the guards nodded at Jane and the others, exiting the room without a word. It was then that the team noticed a large box of donuts and enough coffees for everyone in the center of the metal table. They each looked around at each other in surprise, and all eyes finally settled on Reade, the only one who _didn't_ look surprised. "It's been a rough… I don't even know how long it's been…" he explained, looking embarrassed. "I just thought we could all use… something." They thanked him and each picked up a donut and some coffee. What was coming as soon as this small semblance of normality was finished, they knew, was a topic that no one had yet spoken of, but they all knew it was coming. Jane wasn't even close to finished talking, and it was going to be a long day.

Her donut quickly finished, since she'd barely eaten in the past few weeks, Jane excused herself into the adjoining bathroom. Patterson had been keeping it stocked with the basics – toothbrush, toothpaste, soap, etc – since Jane had been in here every day for the past few weeks, since it was certainly nicer than anything she had been issued for use in her cell. It had been determined that, since there was nothing that could be considered dangerous, and because Jane had been re-classified as low-risk, this was fine.

"Do you want us in the other room again?" Zapata asked Kurt while Jane was in the bathroom. After all, things had changed a lot since she'd said that she would only talk to Kurt. "She seems to be willing to talk to all of us now."

Kurt considered this question, but nodded affirmatively. "Yeah," he replied, thinking of how uncomfortable Jane had looked with the larger audience when being handcuffed. "Even though she knows you guys are watching, the think the more people who're physically in the room, the harder it is for her." The others nodded in understanding.

"In that case, let's go get set up in the other room," Zapata said, stealing another donut and grabbing her coffee from the table before heading for the door. Reade was close behind her.

Jane emerged from the bathroom, feeling _much_ better after cleaning off, and found only Kurt and Patterson there. "I'm just going to duck in there before we, uh, get started," he said, heading for the bathroom door that Jane had just vacated. Patterson stood by the table, watching Jane, noticing that she suddenly looked self-conscious again. Even though the worst was supposedly over, after all, that didn't mean that the rest of it was _easy._

Jane walked back to the table slowly, glancing at the food that remained there. "Are you okay?" Patterson asked her.

Jane looked up at her, grateful for her concern but unsure how she really felt. "I think so," Jane said slowly. "There's… a lot more… but I… I think it'll be okay." She swallowed the lump in her throat and tried to reassure herself.

Patterson moved towards her slowly, putting her arms out and giving her friend a hug. "We're all here for you," she reminded her. "This isn't about punishing you, you know. That's not our goal." Jane nodded quickly, stepping back and trying to keep her composure.

 _It might not be their goal, but there were undoubtedly others in the Bureau whose goal is_ _ **was**_ _to see just what she could be prosecuted for. She wouldn't let that stop her from telling the truth, however. Whatever punishment she deserved, she would live with it._

Despite the brave words she said to herself in her head, her emotions welled dangerously close to the surface. Once again, she hadn't even started and here she was, ready to cry. Just then, the bathroom door opened and Kurt came though it looking a little less rough than he had when he'd gone in. Patterson told them that she'd see them later, flashed Jane a warm smile and turned towards the door, the fact that she'd be watching them on the monitors with the others understood.

JANE AND KURT

When the door clicked loudly behind Patterson as she left, Jane and Kurt just stood and looked at each other. It was time once again. At least this time, they were starting with a better understanding of where each of them was coming from. Jane retrieved her coffee from the far end of the table and settled onto one of the two chairs, still pushed up beside each other from where she and Patterson had sat the day before.

Kurt followed her lead, picking up his coffee and approaching slowly, glancing between her and the empty chair beside her, the question unspoken but clear. She smiled at him nervously, a slow smile but a smile nonetheless, glancing at the chair beside her and then back to him. It was simply understood between them. _Permission granted, sit down_. He walked up behind the chair and pulled it out slightly, then turned it so that if faced Jane, not the table, as her chair did. He sat down, coffee in hand, and simply waited. He took a sip of his coffee, then set it down on the table beside him. He could wait. Once again, this was her story to tell.

Her mind spun faster and faster, suddenly overwhelming her. _Where to start now?_ There were so many things left to tell… So many horrible, horrible things… She thought back to the previous day, to Kurt's calm reassurances, to when he'd told her to tell him the very worst secret first. It had felt impossible, and yet, in the end it had softened the blow, at least a little bit. She could feel herself getting worked up, and suddenly it was hard to breathe.

He watched her, watched her first appearing to shuffle through her thoughts to try to pick what to talk about next, then watched her seem to panic at the thought of whatever it was. Just because what she'd told him yesterday had been the thing that had scared her the most didn't mean that what was left wouldn't be extremely hard for her to tell him. _The weight of the things she was keeping inside must have been crushing her_ , he thought in disbelief. _How did she keep all of this inside without us even knowing that something was wrong?_ There was no time to wonder about that now, however, because Jane was beginning to break down before his eyes, and she hadn't even started talking. That was his cue to step in and rescue her from her own worst enemy – herself.

She'd pulled her chair closer to the table so that she could lean on it, and hands were locked together on the cold metal, her grip tightening the longer she sat there. Her breathing was becoming fast and slightly erratic and he reached up, placing a hand on top of hers, holding on tightly. "Jane," he said calmly, squeezing her clenched hands. It took a few seconds, but she seemed to slowly begin to relax, taking a deep breath and staring ahead of her, so that he was looking at her profile. He almost wondered if he should sit across from her so that he could more easily get her to look at him – because eye contact sometimes helped immensely between them – but decided that in some ways, that would be almost selfish of him. Yes, he wanted to look her in the eyes, but that would probably make it harder for her. No, if she didn't want to look at him, that was certainly okay.

He continued to watch her, not saying anything else but feeling the tension lessen slightly from his grip on her hands, where were no longer locked together. She'd rearranged them so that the fingers of one of her hands were laced together with his, and her other hand covered the back of his hand. She was holding on securely, but not squeezing. Suddenly he heard her breathe in quickly, as if she'd decided to force herself to get on with it. One word escaped her lips, setting the tone for how this day would begin.

"Mayfair."

He nodded calmly, wondering if she was doing what he'd advised her the previous day and starting from the worst so that she could work her way backwards. He was worried about what she had to say about Mayfair because despite the whole mess with Daylight, the loss of Mayfair had still stung. Did he feel that his boss had betrayed him with her actions? Yes – in a completely different way than the other betrayals that were so fresh, of course, but still, he did feel betrayed by her. At the same time, he'd spent so many years working with her and trusting her, it was difficult not to take the loss of her as a major blow. He tensed slightly, waiting to hear what Jane had to say about their former boss.

She had determined that she may as well start the day off with – if not the next worse thing she had to confess, than certainly one of them. After getting the whole sleeping with Oscar thing off of her chest, it was hard to know what was the next worse thing that she needed to confess… there was simply so much, all of it pretty horrible. It almost didn't matter what order she went now, only that she worked through it all. Mayfair was as good a place to start as any other, so she forced the woman's name from her lips, committing herself to the explanation of, if not exactly how had happened, at least the part that she knew. It had been clear to her that Mayfair knew things that Jane did not. After all, she _had_ found the meeting place that had previously been hers and Oscar's alone.

Her thoughts tumbled back to that terrible night and she felt panic rising in her chest… saw Mayfair lying on the floor in front of her, bleeding out from her wound, despite Jane's fingers being shoved over it, her hands now covered in Mayfair's blood, blood that she had to glance at her hands to remind herself wasn't still there… And her words, Mayfair's… _"I just wish I could see his face when he finds out what you really are."_

They were the bitter words of an angry woman, who'd felt shocked and betrayed. Jane closed her eyes momentarily against the swell of guilt that the words brought her. _But you've lived past that part,_ she reminded herself. _You're past the part where Kurt found out, and the team, the worst of it, anyway. And he's still here, they all are. Look at your hands._ She opened her eyes, as she'd ordered herself to do, looking down at her hands. _That's not blood on them._ No, her hands weren't covered in Mayfair's blood, no matter how figuratively she might feel that they were. But they did have Kurt's hand in between them, despite everything that she'd already confessed. That, in itself, said a lot, and reminded her that she _could_ go on, no matter how horrible she felt about what she had to say.

He watched as she fought a war within herself, wanting to help but knowing that a lot of this would be up to Jane. To a certain extent, he couldn't do more than he was already doing, which was holding onto her and letting her know that it was safe to tell him the rest. How it would all work out, none of them could know, of course… but the only thing they could do now was exactly what they were doing. For him, that meant holding her hands and listening, no matter what she was going to tell him. She'd uttered the name of their former boss, whose death she'd already said she was responsible for, and he waited anxiously for more details, already knowing that it wasn't as simple as she made it sound. After all, she seemed to feel like _everything_ was her fault.

"There was a basement in a building where Oscar and I met sometimes," she began quietly. She swore she felt his fingers stiffen slightly in hers, but that didn't completely surprise her. He wasn't going to like to hear that, or a lot of the rest of what she had to say either. It wasn't going to stop her from saying it, because she owed him, and all of them, but _especially_ him, that much. Besides, he was still holding her hand.

Hating that Oscar's name made him tense instinctively the way it did, he felt himself stiffen and fought the urge to lean away. _No, this is not about you, Weller_ , he reminded himself. _In the whole Oscar thing, you have the advantage of knowing that what's done is done, it's over. The guy is dead. No matter how much you hate him or his part in all of this, he's no threat to you. No matter how much pain he caused her, or even if she had_ _ **loved**_ _him, which it doesn't seem that she did – not as Jane, anyway – it wouldn't matter either way. He's gone. So just listen to her and remember that._

She took a deep breath and continued. "That night after we…" she turned her head slightly, glancing at him, a spark of something much happier in her eyes for just a second, "you and me…" She paused again, the shadow of a teasing smile coming over her face. It was the first time he'd seen her smile in what felt like forever. "Um, after I turned in my badge, and you… after you kissed me in the locker room…" Stopping for a second as she remembered the elation of the moment, it almost made it worse when her thoughts came back to reality, to Mayfair.

A pained look came back across her face but she forced herself to continue. "You got a phone call. I walked to Patterson's lab, and she and Reade and Zapata were there, drinking and laughing… but I didn't go in. I just… _couldn't_ … I didn't…" The pained look on her face was back. "There were my friends, so happy, no idea what I had done to all of them, and I knew that I didn't deserve to be part of that… So I left, to go and meet Oscar and tell him that I was _done._ Of course, I'd tried to tell him that before, but… somehow I thought it would be different somehow. Except, when I got there I heard what I thought was Oscar, and I spoke too soon – before I'd actually seen him, and before I realized that it _wasn't_ Oscar there. I'd already said the words 'Oscar, it's over…' before I saw Mayfair…"

Closing her eyes again, she had to fight the image of Mayfair, first, pointing her gun at her and then seconds later, covered in blood on the floor, once again. She took several slow, deep breaths, feeling his hand squeeze hers, reminding her that he was there, tethering her to the present moment so that she didn't get lost in her thoughts. More than anything, she wanted to stop, but she knew that she couldn't be done with this until she'd told them everything. Besides, this was only the beginning of the day. There was _so much more_ still to tell, and she intended to do it right this time, and tell him everything – the way she _should_ have in the first place. She opened her eyes again, but didn't look at him, instead focusing on a spot on the wall that faced her, down by the floor, her voice soft, as if she were forcing it out by willpower alone – which she was, in fact.

"I don't know how she got there, to that basement, how she found it. But suddenly she was pointing her gun at me, telling me I'd set her up…" Jane's voice wavered, and the emotions that were bubbling just below the surface threatened to overtake her. She turned and looked at Kurt, desperation in her eyes. "But I didn't, I _swear_ … not on purpose…" She gulped air desperately, willing herself not to lose her composure, though she knew it was a losing battle. It was far too early, and she had far too much left to say, after all.

"Oscar…" she croaked, her voice suddenly full of something that sounded surprisingly like hatred. "The little things he had me do here and there… like switch Mayfair's pen for an identical pen, insert a GPS tracker in the team's car, plug a particular flash drive into any FBI computer… stupid little things that he insisted I do, but wouldn't tell me _why_ … I wouldn't have done them if I'd known…"

 _But would I have? If I'd known?_ she suddenly asked herself. Because she hadn't wanted to do any of it, she'd tried to insist that she wouldn't do those things at all, even _not_ knowing what she was doing, but Oscar had held out on her with the answers that she desperately wanted, and then, when that wasn't enough any longer, he'd threatened Kurt's life. How could she say that she wouldn't have done those things if she'd known? She hadn't wanted to do them in the first place, and yet… she had.

 _Nothing would have been different. Admit it. You didn't purposely set her up, but you did do it, and you would have done it again. Of course you would have! If you had to choose between Kurt and Mayfair? You can't honestly say you would have let Kurt die to save Mayfair… can you?_

She shook her head then, trying to push the thoughts out, even though it wouldn't change anything. _You need to say these things out loud_ , she reminded herself. _You need to tell him. All of it._

"No, that's not true," she whispered, and for a second Kurt was confused. "I told him I wouldn't do those things, that I _refused_ , because I wanted nothing to do with his _plan_." She knew that it had been _their_ plan, including her former self, but it seemed easier to call it Oscar's plan. "But he had the answers that I wanted, that no one else could give me, and he only fed them to me in scraps, one at a time, doling out the information about my past slowly, but only when I did what he wanted. I know I shouldn't have let him tempt me that way," she paused, looking mournfully at him, "I just…" She looked down at the metal of the table in front of her, ashamed. She'd let her need for answers consume her, and it had cost Mayfair her life.

"Jane," he said, trying to pull her back to the present time for a second. _Why is she so determined to accept everyone else's sins as her own_? But she ignored him, too far inside her head and too convinced that it was all solely her fault and hers alone.

She felt him squeeze her hand again, but she shook her head. She didn't deserve so much understanding. "Once I finally said that no, I wouldn't even be his mole in exchange for the answers I desperately wanted, even though he was the _only_ one who could give them to me, _that_ was when he told me that the people – not him, because _he_ was the 'good cop,' he said – but the people we worked with, whoever they were," she said bitterly, "that they wouldn't accept my unwillingness to participate in the plan. That was when he told me that if I refused to participate…" She closed her eyes, tears escaping and rolling quickly down her cheeks.

"That was when they said they would kill you. And I can sit here and say that I wouldn't have done those things Oscar told me to do if I'd known that they would get Mayfair killed, but that's a _lie_." She was almost hysterical now, and Kurt wasn't sure how to get through to her. "Because if I had to choose between you and Mayfair? How could I have ever saved Mayfair, knowing that they'd kill _you_?" She dissolved momentarily in tears, and no amount of squeezing her hands seemed to be having an effect.

" _Jane_ ," Kurt said, more urgently now, leaning closer to her and tugging her hands off the table, resting his forearms on his knees, their intertwined hands between then, pulling her to turn in his direction.

She moved slowly, reluctantly, not because she didn't want to, but because she was ashamed. Ashamed to face him, given the things that she'd done. She'd told him the part where his life had been threatened the day before, but it hurt just as much to say it the second time. She didn't think it would ever _stop_ hurting her to think it, much less to say it.

"It's in the past," he said forcefully, trying to get her to look at him. "There's nothing you can do to change those choices anymore. It's done. And I'm right here. Nothing happened."

"They didn't kill you, but _I_ got _her_ killed. How can I just forget that?" She looked into his eyes desperately, for the first time in quite a while, then dropped her head miserably, gasping for breath, her sobs increasingly choking her.

"Sssshhhh, Jane," he said, leaning closer to her, as close to her ear as he could manage, in an attempt to be heard over the noise in her head. His voice was as soothing as he could manage while also trying to be loud enough that she could hear him – her head was a noisy place just then, he knew. He'd gotten the idea for the gesture from a memory of Sarah, when Sawyer had been an infant and refused to calm down. As he'd wailed mournfully, so loud that no amount of singing or speaking could get through to him over his own cries, his sister had put her mouth besides his ear and made a loud "sssshhhhh"ing sound, again and again, until finally he had quieted down. He had no idea if it would work, but it was the only thing he'd been able to think of to try.

To his surprise, she nodded rapidly, trying to regain control. _I can't lose my mind over this._ She suddenly realized. _There's so much more…_ She was fighting for air and fighting to calm down. She felt pressure on her knee, and looked down to see that Kurt's free hand was there, squeezing gently.

 _Stay with me,_ he thought, hoping to distract her long enough from her thoughts to pull her back to the present. She squeezed his hand with both of hers, trying to signal that she was trying to hang on, trying to bring herself back from the abyss she was teetering beside.

 _Focus,_ she told herself. _You're trying to explain what happened to Mayfair, and you didn't finish._ It was as though inside her head she could think both perfectly rationally and simultaneously not at all. She couldn't help but wonder if this was a sign that she was losing her mind.

She backtracked to where she'd veered off from Mayfair to Oscar. "She was pointing her gun at me, telling me I'd set her up," Jane said through clenched teeth, trying to not see Mayfair lying bloody on the floor yet again. "I tried to explain, but I…" Shuddering again, she couldn't help but see Mayfair as she'd been in those last moments, the betrayal in her eyes as she put the pieces together, what she believed had happened, which had only been slightly different from what had _actually_ happened. "I kept telling her that I didn't know, but I couldn't say anything else. She was… so _angry_. And I, and then…"

Jane's face crumpled, and she turned away, back to the table, suddenly trying to yank her hands away from Weller's grasp. She succeeded in removing the hand that she'd had on the top of his free, and with it she gripped the edge of the metal table with all of her strength. Her other hand, however, the one that Kurt had been holding, remained firmly in his grip. The sudden turn toward the table, however, had succeeded in pulling him slightly forward along with her, but still he refused to let go. If there was ever a time when Jane needed him _not_ to let go of her, he knew, it was now. No matter what.

She tried to shake her hand loose, and she exhaled in exasperation when he wouldn't let her. He was now half standing, half crouching, out of his chair, almost standing over her, and he took advantage of the proximity to peel her other hand back off of the table, despite its vice-like grip, and despite the frustrated way that she suddenly fought him. _Why couldn't he see that he was wasting his time with her? That she simply didn't deserve any of his loyalty?_

Without fighting back, and without hurting her, he simply refused to let her hand go. When he turned himself back so that he was once again sitting in his chair, he tugged on her gently, turning her so that she was once again facing him, sitting in her chair across from him. He knew that it wasn't her preferred angle – face to face – because it was easier for her to talk without looking directly at him, but he was not going to let her retreat. She wasn't trying to take a moment to collect her thoughts, he knew, but trying to hide away inside herself in panic. He needed to keep her talking – and not because it was his job, though it was, of course, but because he was not going to allow her to torture herself with this. She wasn't going to be able to move on until she got it all out, and that was what he was here to help her do.

She was now facing him, her eyes closed, sitting up rigidly in her chair, every muscle tense. He had taken both of her hands in his, fingers interlaced but palms apart, and was pointing his thumbs into her palms, tracing slow circles. He watched a shiver run through her, and then her breathing seemed to slow, and then finally calm slowly replaced the panic that had seemed to have taken over her only moments before.

"Oscar showed up, I guess," she said quietly, her eyes open but not looking at him, "Mayfair was pointing a gun at me, so I was a little distracted. He, Oscar…" She hated that she had to keep saying his name, that she had to keep going over all of this. But she knew that it was essential, so she inhaled a shaky breath, then exhaled slowly, steading herself. Kurt was still tracing circles in the palms of her hands, and it worked like magic on her nerves, helping her to focus where she had been unable to before.

"He shot her from behind, or somewhere across the room, I don't remember," she whispered. "She fell down right in front of me. There was _so much blood…_ " She breathed deeply, staring at their hands clasped together, watching the paths his thumbs traced in her palms, around and around. The sensation of it was almost hypnotizing, as was watching him do it. He watched her carefully, watching his thumbs, and he smiled slightly despite himself. Despite how close she was to the edge, he noticed that the simple motion against her hands had a powerful effect. Pressing his thumbs into her palms a little harder for a second, he resumed making the circles. He saw her try to smile, the corners of her mouth moving almost imperceptibly, but to him her reply was loud and clear. His message had been received.

"Oscar ran… tried to get me to just _leave her there._ I tried to stop the bleeding, but I didn't have anything to use, nothing but my hands… and…" Looking desperately at her hands, he felt her try to pull them back from him, but he was too quick. Without squeezing them, he held on just a little tighter, not allowing her to pull away. As soon as he felt her relax, he began moving this thumbs in circles again, and a sad smile flitted across her face for a second, and then was gone.

"Mayfair still had her gun, and she tried to shoot me," Jane whispered. "I had to wrestle it away from her, and toss it away…" She squeezed her eyes shut. "I'll never forget her last words to me… they still haunt me," she said, her voice breaking. After another deep breath, she paused, unsure she could even force herself to say the words that had been seared so painfully into her memory. Kurt suddenly felt her squeeze his hands, and he removed his thumbs from her palms, wrapping them securely around the outsides of her hands, squeezing back. "She said…" Jane paused, biting her lip and looking like she was in pain, " _I just wish I could be there to see his face when he finds out what you really are_."

It was Kurt's turn to inhale sharply in surprise, cringing on Jane's behalf, hating to think how much Mayfair's words had hurt her, and thinking guiltily back to when he _had_ found out, and to his reaction. He didn't like to think about that day at all, unsurprisingly, and his now regretted reaction, but there was nothing to be done about that now.

"Jane, look at me," he said, leaning forward, holding tightly to her hands. She squeezed her eyes closed, shaking her head slightly and refusing to raise her head. He frowned hard at her, determined, then let go of her left hand, bringing his right hand to her chin and pushing up with his fingertips, gently yet insistently, until her head tipped upwards towards him. Her eyes remained stubbornly closed, her chin shaking ever so slightly as if she were about to burst into tears – which, given the situation, was entirely possible. He kept his fingertips against the side of her chin, and she leaned into them ever so slightly, completely involuntarily.

"Jane, _look at me_ ," he repeated firmly, squeezing the hand that he was still holding. Knowing that he wasn't going to let it go, she gave in and did as she was told, her expression when she finally opened her eyes one of fear… fear of what she would find when she did look at him. But instead of any kind of hostility, she found the familiar look of devotion, tinged with sadness and maybe a little bit of desperation.

 _Why would_ _ **he**_ _be feeling those things?_ she wondered. It didn't make sense.

 _Because he knows that you're feeling them_ , the voice in her head replied. Just the fact that there was kindness in his eyes made her want to cry again, but with relief this time.

When he finally had her full attention, he spoke. "I am a lot of things, and well-adjusted is not one of them," he began, which only elicited a look of confusion from Jane, who had no idea what he was talking about. "I _was_ angry, and I _did_ jump to some conclusions that I shouldn't have…" She started to shake her head and her mouth opened to protest, but he stopped her by putting his index finger firmly against her lips, holding it there as he shook his head at her.

"No, _listen to me_. I _did_ react badly, and I can't undo that. But if there is one thing I know, it's what – and _who_ – you really are. I don't need to know what your name was before any of this to know that. I hate that Mayfair died that way, and the things that happened to her, or that in the end, you were tricked, coerced, into doing those things. But I also know that Mayfair was a long way from innocent. She made a lot of choices that I don't agree with. It doesn't mean that she deserved to die, but there's nothing to be done about it now… And _you_ are not responsible for that. Alright?"

He slowly removed his finger from her lips, where it had remained while he talked, and took her left hand in his right once again. He looked her directly in the eyes, whispering, "I know what you really are, Jane. Stubborn, for one thing, and willing to sacrifice yourself for the sake of everyone else, expecting nothing in return, no concern whatsoever for your own safety… and all the while taking the blame for things that are _not_ all your fault. Which brings us back to stubborn…"

She forced herself to attempt a smile, but a sob came out instead, tears spilling down her cheeks once again, as she nodded at him slowly.

"Do you know what happened to her?" he asked gently. He hated to have to ask for more from her, but they were far from finished here, and he knew that he had to keep the momentum going for as long as possible. Really, it was still very early in the day, despite the fact that they both already felt exhausted and completely drained.

"No," Jane whispered, shaking her head. She looked away from him, but that was alright with him. He'd held her attention for the most important part, ensuring that he heard her, and he knew how hard it was for him to tell him these things to start with. "I couldn't save her. I tried, but… she was gone. I couldn't stay there… I…" She shook her head. "Oscar, or one of his people… I think they…" She shook her head again, sighing. "I don't know what happened after that, or…" she paused, then continued. "I don't know what they… did with her."

He nodded, looking at her sympathetically. "That's all I know about Mayfair," she added, to clarify.

 _If only that was all I had to say,_ she thought sadly. _But there's so much more I have to tell him._ She sighed heavily, looking down at their hands, clasped loosely together. His eyes followed hers. When he saw where she was looking, he laced their fingers together more tightly and began drawing circles in her palms once again, and she smiled weakly, looking up and meeting his eyes.

"Okay… what next?" he asked her gently. She took a deep breath, watching his fingers trace circles on her palms.

 _I can do this,_ she told herself. _I have to_.

PATTERSON, ZAPATA AND READE

In the monitoring room, it had been dead silent for almost the entire time Jane had been talking, sitting in their chairs without moving, barely even blinking. There had been mouths hanging open, gasps and whispered exclamations, as well as more than a few tears, mostly from Patterson. It was hard to hear about Mayfair this way, and it was definitely hard to see Jane this way. Even Reade, who'd been the most reluctant to believe her, couldn't help but be feel his resolve soften.

When Jane had talked about the basement, the three of them had glanced at each other uneasily. When she'd mentioned Mayfair being shot, and that there was _so much blood_ , they thought back to the spray that Patterson had put down that allowed them to see blood residue. It was all coming together.

Finally, they exchanged glances again as they heard Jane say, "That's all I know about Mayfair." It all made a lot more sense now, and it was painfully obvious why they hadn't heard from Mayfair after the last time she'd been seen in the office. But at the same time, there _had_ to be more than Mayfair was mixed up in, didn't there? Something felt off about it… it wasn't simply dumb luck that that Oscar guy, Jane's ex-fiancé, had happened to shoot Mayfair. From the sound of things, Oscar knew exactly what he was doing…

Reade stood up and stretched, shaking his head. "I'm going to grab some coffee real quick. You guys want some?"

"Yeah, thanks," Zapata replied, eyes not leaving the screen, even though nothing was currently happening.

"No," Patterson whispered, trying to keep her composure when she was clearly on the verge of falling apart – not for the first time. "No, thank you, Reade."

Reade nodded, walking toward the door. "I'll be right back," he told them, though neither of them seemed to be listening. Shaking his head, he walked out into the bright lights of the hallway. It was going to be a long day.


	16. Carter

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

"Okay… what next?" he asked her gently. She took a deep breath, watching his fingers trace circles on her palms.

 _I can do this,_ she told herself. _I have to_.

She could feel the anxiety rising again. _What next? Good question. Pick something horrible that has happened to you in the past few months. There's a lot to choose from._

He watched her expression carefully. She already looked like she was about to break down. Talking about Mayfair had drained her, that much was obvious. No matter how many things there were that she still wanted to confess, it wasn't as though there was a certain time by which they needed to be finished. He'd be there as long as he needed to, after all. "Do you need a break?" he asked her. "Five minutes to breathe?"

As much as she wanted all of it behind her, it felt like there was still a lot left, and she didn't think she had the stamina to keep pushing herself indefinitely.

"Yeah," she agreed gratefully. She removed her hands from his reluctantly, standing up and stretching, then walked back towards the bathroom. More than anything, she had the urge to scrub her hands, though she knew that it was just psychological, and that it was because she couldn't stop imagining Mayfair's blood on them.

Closing the door behind her, she breathed a sigh of relief. This tiny room was the only place she'd been in the past week and a half where her every move wasn't being monitored, recorded and scrutinized. She understood why it had to be that way – after all, the things that she had done… she had earned this treatment. Still, it didn't make it easy to deal with. Turning on the water as hot as she could stand it, she washed her hands again and again, until her skin was pink and stung from the heat of the water. Next, she let the water run until it was freezing cold, then she leaned forward and splashed her face. It wouldn't erase all the tears that had fallen, nor prevent the ones that were still to come, but at least for a few minutes she could feel slightly more human in between her breakdowns.

Patting her hands and face dry with paper towels, she re-emerged from the bathroom, feeling her stress level rise the moment she stepped back out into the light of the interrogation room. Kurt was standing by the table, draining what was left of his coffee, and she walked slowly in his direction, but stopped a few feet away, behind the chair in which she'd been sitting, so that it sat between them. She reached across the table for her coffee, not having any particular desire to drink it, since her stomach was in knots, but needing something to _do_ – with her hands and with herself.

Taking a drink and attempting not to gag from the sick feeling that was growing stronger and stronger in her stomach, she began walking in the other direction, simply pacing the length of the room. She wanted nothing more than to walk _towards_ him – she knew that he was the one who could calm her down. But at the same time, despite how he had acted since he'd requested to be locked in her cell with her the night before, she still feared that he would, at some point, change his mind, that he would find somewhere in all of this mess something that crossed the line, something that he really _couldn't_ forgive, and decide that he took back the compassion he had shown her. She knew this fear didn't make much sense, and that he'd given her absolutely no reason to feel this way, but she couldn't help it. As far as she as concerned, that was what she deserved. No matter how many times he tried to insist to her that this wasn't the case, she tried to keep herself ready for rejection at any second. After all, it would hurt less if she was expecting it.

His cup empty, Kurt threw it in the trash can in the corner and then walked toward Jane, who appeared to be pacing. Instead of allowing herself a moment to relax, she seemed to be doing the exact opposite, and making her stress even worse. When she saw him coming in her direction, her eyes widened slightly and she almost looked like she was looking for an escape. He stopped a few feet from her – farther away than he wanted to be – and held out his hand, his palm facing her.

"Jane, stop," he told her quietly, and she did. She stood still and watched him, suddenly looking terrified, as he took another step toward her, moving as if he was trapped in slow motion… or maybe that was just the way her brain was perceiving it. Before she knew what was happening, his arms had wound around her and he was hugging her firmly. She had thought that something as simple as a hug would make her feel trapped just then, but instead that hug from him made the ice inside her veins seem to melt, and she relaxed against him, bringing her arms up to his back without thinking. Her head rested against his shoulder, and she breathed out raggedly.

"It's going to be okay," he told her, leaning forward to speak close to her ear. "I promise."

"You can't promise something like that," she told him sadly. He felt her try to pull away from him, but he didn't let her.

"Yes, I can," he insisted, still holding onto her. He felt her sigh in resignation and then lean against him again, tossing her now empty coffee cup towards the trash can a few feet away.

"Okay?" he asked softly. She simply nodded, still not allowing herself to believe it, but unable to have an argument with him about whether or not things would be okay when she was already so exhausted from everything else. Releasing his left arm from around her, he turned so that he was facing the same direction as she as, securing his right arm across her shoulders, and began walking them back towards the chairs. While she knew that this had been inevitable, as it was only supposed to be a short break, she felt herself tensing before she'd even sat down. Of course, Kurt could sense the shift in her anxiety level, both because he was so close to her, and also because he was so tuned in to her emotions.

Before she could sit down, he turned her chair to face his. Whether or not she chose to look at him, he hoped that doing so would give more of a semblance of it being the two of them, and less of this being something for the benefit of the rest of the team, and indeed, the rest of the FBI. Standing beside the chairs, he pulled her close again, holding on for only a few seconds before releasing her.

It was at that moment that they heard the door click loudly, and they looked up to see Reade, who was walking toward them carrying what appeared to be an impressive number of coffee cups and water bottles, balancing them both in his hands and between his arms and his body. Stopping beside the table, he carefully set down the ones he'd didn't have a grip on, before setting down two coffees and two bottles of water.

"Thought you guys could maybe use a refill," he said awkwardly, glancing from one of them to the other, then began picking up the rest of what he'd had in his arms, ready to take it with him back to the monitoring room.

"Thanks, Reade," Kurt replied gratefully, nodding at him.

Jane attempted to smile at him, though her expression ended up looking more pained than anything. "Thanks," she whispered, settling herself in her chair once more, leaning forward with her elbows on her knees, her fingers woven together and forearms up in the air with her forehead leaned against them, her eyes closed. Kurt sat down across from her, tugging her hands towards him, forcing her to sit back up since she no longer had her hands to lean against. As she looked back up at him, he did his best to concentrate on projecting a look of calm, knowing that she would need it. He watched her intently as she took a deep breath, looking slightly less frazzled than she had when she'd finished talking about Mayfair. He supposed that for the time being, "slightly less frazzled" was the best he could hope for.

"I guess… next I'll tell you about what happened to Carter," she began slowly. While he wasn't necessarily the next most important to her, she knew that information about what had happened to him would be vitally important to the FBI – and the CIA as well – so he seemed like a logical choice. Not that the order _really_ mattered, except to her, since it was _all_ coming out this time.

So far she was still in control of her emotions, breathing almost normally, and that was a good thing – despite the fact that it probably wouldn't last. She gave herself a few more minutes, at most, until she expected to be breaking down again… but that really couldn't be something she took into consideration. Taking a deep breath, she thought back to that night… at least this part _started_ with a happier memory. "Do you remember the night…?" _Of course he does, silly_ , she reminded herself. "When you came home, and I was waiting outside your building?" This time she let her eyes meet his easily, and she saw surprise register there.

 _That night has something to do with Carter?_ he wondered, baffled as to where this was going. Then again, when he thought about it, that was the night when Carter had disappeared. Fisher, in his mad witch hunt, had pointed out that much. "Without your detail…" he said, continuing the thought.

"And I said that I… I 'wanted a moment that was just us,' she added, a slight smile appearing out of nowhere at the memory of kissing him, and then seeing the surprise on his face. It was as though they were taking turns continuing one thought now. She couldn't help but bask in the glow of this memory, because at least for the moment, it was a blissfully happy one – and she didn't have a lot of those.

"And you _kissed_ me," he said, stating the obvious. She felt herself blushing, her smile now blossoming across her face – a real, genuine smile – it was one of the happiest memories she had, despite the fact that it had been followed so closely by the beginning of the implosion of her reality.

"One of the few things that I can remember about being Jane that I _don't_ regret doing," she whispered, looking into his eyes steadily, for once not needing to feel guilty… only sad, because it had been so short lived, and had been followed by so many horrible things.

He nodded slowly, smiling at both her happiness and his own, feeling them seem to multiply each other. It was such a wonderful change to watch her remember something _happy_ , and while he knew it wouldn't last, he tried to help her stretch this part out as long as possible. If anyone deserved a moment of happiness, of peace, it was Jane, especially because it obviously preceded something that would be traumatic.

"Of course I remember that night," he said softly, knowing that something that he _didn't_ want to hear was probably coming in a matter of seconds. He'd been holding her clasped hands in one of his, loosely, and he looked down at them, putting one of his hands on each side of hers, holding them together, as if he could somehow hold that moment between his hands and stop it from escaping them.

"But," he added, "You have to give yourself more credit than that. You've done a lot of things since you've been Jane that you shouldn't regret." He looked at her sincerely, and she smiled in appreciation at what he'd just said, but he saw her smile change slightly. He could tell from her expression that even though he'd meant what he'd said – because she _had_ done a lot of things that had helped them since she'd come to the FBI – she had so much guilt over the things she'd done wrong that it seemed to erase the good she'd done, at least in her mind. She didn't reply to his comment, simply continued talking about that night.

"And then… I mean Sawyer's adorable, but…" she started, clearly not wanting to say anything bad about his nephew, but to this day still wishing that he had just stayed inside. There was no way to know what might have happened differently if the boy hadn't appeared, breaking the spell between them and setting everything else in motion…

He chuckled at that, adding, "Yeah, that time his timing just _really, really_ sucked." He sighed, adding, "Kids…" She nodded, her expression darkening.

"It was stupid, slipping my detail…" she said, looking away from him.

 _Something happened,_ he knew immediately. _That's why she didn't answer her phone._ At the time, she hadn't seemed to care that slipping her detail had put her in danger, as if she didn't quite comprehend that they were there to keep her safe, and not to be a nuisance. The fact that she seemed to now regret it… something significant must have happened, and he waited impatiently for her to go on.

"I didn't even get a block away before these guys jumped me – I don't even know how many. They put a bag over my head, and threw me in a van," she told him in a whisper. She was staring at their hands, and he felt her hands tighten their hold on each other. He tightened his hold around hers in response. "They took me to some abandoned building and I was strapped to a table, or a board, or something… tied down. When they finally took the bag off of my head, I saw that Carter was there. He'd sent those guys after me."

Even without looking at him, she could feel his mood change. He'd already tightened his hold around her hands, and it seemed to intensify even more when she'd finished saying she'd been abducted and tied down by men sent by Carter.

 _How could I have let her leave there alone?_ his mind screamed at him. _It's my fault. But why didn't she tell me before? Did they hurt her? She'd never said anything…_ His mind was racing, but despite the hundreds of questions he suddenly had, he remained quiet.

She looked up at him, noticing that his face hand changed completely, and now reflected guilt and anger. Instinctively, she felt like she should smile, to try to be the strong one now that he looked so completely devastated… but she didn't have it in her. No, this wasn't something that could be smoothed over and forgotten. She wasn't angry, she didn't blame _him_ , of course, the way he might blame himself. How could she, when she was at fault for all of it? She looked away from him, unable to say any of this directly – how could she look him in the eye and tell him any of this?

"He told me that I was going to go down a dark hole that one he knew about except him," she said, her voice beginning to shake, as she continued to look anywhere but at him, and shivering at the memory of it. "And I believed him. I still do. I think he would've made me disappear without a second thought."

Kurt couldn't help but agree, silently, that Carter would've done something just so despicable. From their few interactions, he seemed about as dirty as they came, and willing to do absolutely _anything_ to advance his own agenda.

"He said that how nice that hole was depended on how cooperative I was. He wanted to know who I was, who had sent me to the FBI… I kept telling him that I didn't know – because I _didn't_. Back then, I didn't know _any of it_. He just kept pouring water over my face, asking me again and again…" She almost choked just _remembering_ how close she'd felt like she was to drowning, despite the fact that she wasn't actually submerged in water.

"Wait… he _water boarded you_?" Kurt's voice, like his face, was filled with shock and anger, even more so than it had been a few seconds ago. She finally looked back up at him, she was surprised to find he now looked furious – but not with her.

She just nodded. "He didn't believe me, so he kept doing it, and kept asking me those questions… Then I suddenly remembered something – a memory from _before_ – I was dressed in a camouflage uniform, walking down the hall of a building and he was there, talking with someone else. Carter said to the other guy, 'The program is called Orion.' So I asked him what Orion was." She shook her head and closed her eyes for a second, then opened them again and took a breath, telling herself to just continue, so it could be over with.

"Wait," Kurt interjected, "Orion? That's what that jewel thief, Casey, said to you at the hospital… back in the beginning." She nodded, having known that he'd make that connection. He looked at her, waiting for her to say more.

"I shouldn't have have asked him that, _of course_ , because it only made him angrier, and more sure that I knew something that I didn't know. The fact that I knew _anything_ about Orion – which was obviously a secret – made him even more paranoid. He told me that that wasn't 'how this works.'" She swallowed hard, closing her eyes and remembering how terrified she'd felt at that point. "He took out a _drill_ …"

"He _what_?" Kurt demanded. Somehow, every time he didn't think he could be more horrified with what he was hearing, he was. She just nodded, glancing at him and feeling the fear of that moment course through her.

He could feel her begin to shake, even just through his grip on her hands. More than anything, he wanted to move closer to her and do something more than hold her hands, but he remained in his chair. However, he did lean forward, and somehow managed to pry her hands apart, taking one of them firmly in each of his, and began tracing circles in her palms, as he had before. Looking at the intense look on his face, she wondered if he was doing it more to calm her, and to calm _him_. Maybe both.

She felt herself begin relax again, but slowly, her breathing returning to normal. She hadn't even realized that she'd be so affected by the memory of Carter. Taking a deep breath, she began again, knowing that there wasn't much more to say about him and needing to finish. "He had the drill out, and he asked me what I knew about Orion. I honestly didn't know anything, other than that one memory, and of Casey saying the word to me before he died. Nothing else. He wouldn't have believed me, though… so… who knows what he would have done to me."

A shiver ran down her spine, shaking her whole body at the thought of what Carter would have done to her if Oscar hadn't come along when he did. Her feelings for Oscar were complicated. The love that her former self had felt for him wasn't there. No, mostly when she thought about him – which she tried not to do – she felt anger. At the same time, he _had_ protected her, even when she had no idea who he was or even that he was doing it – or so he said, anyway. It made things that much more confusing. He'd saved her life that night, and who knew how many other times.

"I was sure that he was about to drill into my skull…" Jane continued, shuddering slightly but trying to get to the end. She was finding that more and more, she had to work to force the words out. "And then suddenly there were gunshots from somewhere nearby. Carter turned around to see where they'd come from. He started to walk away, and then… more gunshots, and he was on the ground. It was Oscar who shot him… I didn't even know who he was at the time… I'd never seen him before."

 _That I could remember, anyway_ , she added in her head. She wondered angrily why that had to be the qualifier for _everything_ in her life.

Frustration bubbled up insider her, in addition to everything else. "He saved me," she said, but there was bitterness in her voice. "Apparently he'd been watching me, looking out for me, I'd just never seen him. Then suddenly I remembered… I'd had memories of him, I just hadn't realized they were _him,_ that this was who I was remembering…"

She looked up at him, suddenly feeling crushing guilt. Not guilt about what had happened to Oscar, or that she couldn't remember someone who'd allegedly been everything to her, but guilt because she had to tell Kurt about it. Despite the fact that logically there was no reason for her _to_ feel guilty – after all, they had made no promises to each other – her memories of Oscar were from that other life, the one that was her but someone else... still, she did.

"That was when it came together, when I saw him. I remembered…" _Say it_ , she ordered herself. "I remembered kissing him," he said, the words making her feel slightly nauseous.

He was surprised by the intensity of her reaction to her own words, but to his reaction to them as well. She'd already told him that she'd _slept_ with Oscar, and not in that fuzzy time of black and white memories, but her, _Jane_. Still, hearing her say that she remembered kissing him before her memory wipe… he felt himself tense. He stared at his thumbs, making circles in her palms, telling himself to think only about her, not about Oscar. It didn't matter anymore, after all, because he was dead, and despite everything, even knowing that she'd slept with him, he knew that she didn't have feelings for him. Not positive ones, anyway.

She stopped, noticing how tense he suddenly was, and knew that this was not going to get easier for either of them as she continued. Wishing desperately that she could stop, she forced herself to continue talking. "I remembered… I made the connection because of the tree tattoo on his forearm. I'd seen the tattoo in a dream I had, which I guess was actually a memory," she continued, "In the dream, and then again just then, I remembered… " She felt herself blushing, possibly a deeper shade of crimson than she ever had before, wondering if she really had to say it, that she remembered sleeping with him as a memory, not as Jane… after all, she'd already told him that she'd slept with him _since_ she'd been Jane, and that was far worse. Did she really have to say it _again?_ She sat staring at him, feeling hot with embarrassment and shame and guilt and fear – fear? – But why?

 _Fear of his reaction_ , she realized. When she didn't continue, he looked up and saw her face, conflicted and bright red. He smiled slightly, nodding and looking very much _not_ angry, despite his having stiffened when Oscar became the topic of conversation. Satisfied that he understood, she continued.

"And I remembered giving him back an engagement ring…"

"The one you mentioned at Rich Dotcom's," he said quietly. She had told him _that_ part before, at least. She looked up at him again, and saw so many different things in his eyes… Attempting to take a deep breath to calm herself, she found that instead that it came out raggedly, and her eyes closed again, against her will. Her memories of that day when they'd played the adult version of a kid's fancy dress up game, as assassins, were especially precious to her. It had all been an act, of course, and yet… at the heart of why they had been so believable had been their true feelings for each other, the ones they had still never spoken about. It was almost as though that was how things could have been between them if only things had been different – like in an alternate reality. Once again, coming back to the present from the memories of that day was painful, as it always was.

As her eyes focused once again, this time back on their hands, still clasped together, she heard Rich Dotcom's voice. Not from that night, but from their second encounter with him, just before he'd made his escape. _Jane, listen to me. Life is short. You follow your heart. Tell Weller how you feel._ It made her cringe, because even to this day, she'd never done that – not even close, really. Here she was telling him all of her secrets, all of the things that she'd kept from him… and yet somehow, she could tell him every horrible secret and _still_ she couldn't tell him how she felt about him.

 _Didn't you promise yourself to tell him everything?_ the voice in her head demanded.

 _Not_ _ **that**_ _,_ she replied. _**Not yet**_ _._

She pushed past it, back to that horrible night of her abduction. "That was when he – Oscar – showed me the video of her," she shook her head, reminding herself that it hadn't actually been someone else, but her. "No, of _me_ , telling me that I'd…" She paused, inhaling a long, shaky breath before continuing. "That I'd done this to myself." Her head dropped and she closed her eyes, which she'd been doing a lot, she knew, but she simply couldn't help herself, shaking her head and feeling tears gathering. She was surprised that she'd made it as far as she had without losing it again.

Pulling herself back up, she just tried to focus on breathing in and out for a few minutes, slowly becoming aware of the sensation of his thumbs tracing circles in her palms again. She'd been so caught up in her memory of that night, she'd somehow stopped noticing feeling the rhythm of his thumbs' movement. Now she gave into the sensation gratefully, trying to think of nothing except her hands in his.

Everything was so far beyond screwed up, and at that moment she simply couldn't think about it anymore. She now realized that given up what little she'd worked so hard for, and had managed to claim for herself as Jane, and for what? She hadn't gotten any answers. She'd betrayed her team, and the person who was absolutely the most important to her in the world… and somehow she still had him on her side, despite the fact that she absolutely didn't deserve him. She took a slow, deep breath, in and then out, and opened her eyes, staring at their hands. It was safer than looking at him, which she didn't think she could do just them.

She was gathering her thoughts, trying to think of what to say next, when Kurt's voice surprised her. "I'm sorry, Jane," he said. Without even looking up, she heard guilt in his voice, leaving her both surprised and confused, and she couldn't help but look up at him.

"Why?" she asked, completely confused.

"If I hadn't let you just walk away alone that night… This is my fault." He suddenly felt guilt for everything had happened since that night that had led them to this, that all of it was his fault. If those events had not been set in motion… he had pushed her towards all of it.

" _Your_ fault?" she repeated, unable to believe her ears. "After everything I've told you already… how can you possibly think it was _your_ fault?"

"I knew you didn't have your detail and I let you walk away," he replied quickly. "I should either have invited you inside or made sure you got home safely. I just… my head wasn't on straight… I wasn't thinking after that kiss. It's the only explanation I can think of, and it's a terrible one… How could I _do_ that? I'd do _anything_ to protect you, and yet… I didn't even _try_."

She shook her head sadly. "No Kurt, as that video said, _I did this to myself_."

He didn't know what to say to that. After all, how did you reason with someone so determined to blame themselves for not only the things that they'd done in what amounted to another life, and that they have no memory of, but also for the things that other people had done all on their own? It was a defense mechanism, he knew, he just wished he knew how to deal with it.

Of course, it was no more _all_ his fault than it was _all_ her fault, but he couldn't see that any better than she could.

So, knowing that he couldn't change her mind, he didn't try to argue with her, he just went on talking. "The next day, when things were… awkward between us… I thought it was just that you regretted kissing me."

Her head was shaking before she even realized it. "I could never regret that," she replied.

"And then suddenly you were talking about how maybe we shouldn't follow your tattoos anymore… I didn't understand. But it makes sense now."

"I hadn't known before then… the plan that was the reason I was sent here. I still don't know what the big picture was, all I could see then was that it was _my_ plan, which scared the hell out of me, and that it had gotten David killed." She paused, bit her lip and looked at him for a few seconds, and then continued, "I couldn't stand the thought of something happening to you because of _my_ plan."

"It wasn't _your_ plan," he corrected her softly. "You're not that woman. You're Jane." He knew it wasn't going to convince her, so he didn't go on, but it seemed like something she needed to hear, at least to plant the seed. It was probably going to take a long, long time to convince her of this.

"That's a convenient excuse," she sighed.

"It's not an _excuse,"_ he insisted. "It's a fact. Your memory was erased."

"Not quite," she shot back. "I got to keep just enough to be a punishment."

He sighed then, seeing that she was now just beating herself up. "Let's take a break," he said suddenly. He was getting frustrated with her continued insistence on shouldering _all_ of the blame.

She nodded, pulling her hands from his and standing up, more quickly than he'd expected, walking toward the door of the bathroom. He sighed heavily, leaning forward and running his hands across his face and then back through his hair. While not the heaviest thing they'd had to go over so far, it was still rather excruciating. Suddenly he couldn't sit in that chair any more, and he stood up and began pacing slowly from one end of the room to the other.

In the bathroom, she put cold water on her face, standing back up and putting her face dry. Looking in the mirror, she saw that she looked as bad as she felt. _Perfect_ , she thought sarcastically. She could feel herself shutting down, and she wasn't sure how much more of this she'd be able to take. Part of her longed to go back to her cell and curl up in a ball so that she didn't have to talk anymore. She was so damn sick of _talking, of confessing._ She reminded herself that she was simply not allowed to decide that she was stopping. Not until she'd told him everything.

More than even how sick she was of confessing, she was sick of the fact that there was just so much to confess. What kind of a person was she, that could do _so many_ terrible things? And yet, she knew that this confession was just a _part_ of her punishment for the things she'd done. The other part, that has handed to her by the FBI, would probably be even worse, but she wouldn't know how bad it would be until she finished her confession. More than anything she just wanted to get it over with.

With a heavy sigh – she was certainly doing a lot of that today – she pushed herself away from the sink and walked back through the door. When she turned toward the table, she was surprised to find Kurt standing there, waiting for her. She went to walk past him, but he put his hand on her shoulder, stopping her in her tracks. "Hey," he said softly. "Hang on." She just looked at him, first with slight irritation, then in confusion, wondering what she was supposed to be waiting for. A moment later, she was surprised when he pulled her into a hug. She stood stiffly for a few seconds, genuinely confused, before she felt herself relaxing against him. Despite the fact that he'd been kind to her since the previous day, she'd spent so much energy today on telling herself she didn't deserve compassion, that when she got such a large dose of it, she simply didn't know what to do.

She'd no sooner laid her forehead forward, against his shoulder, when she felt her breath catch in her lungs. Her arms were around him loosely, as if she was afraid to let herself hold on any tighter… for fear of what, she wasn't sure, other than, perhaps, letting go of all of the emotions that were so tightly bottled up inside her. A choked sob escaped her, despite her best efforts, and she felt him pull her even closer to him.

 _I don't deserve this_ , her mind protested, and the thought made her stiffen. His hold on her didn't loosen, however, almost as if he knew what she was thinking. It wouldn't surprise her if he did, really. There was a sensation of falling in the pit of her stomach, and suddenly she was grateful that he was holding onto her so securely, because she wasn't sure that she'd still be standing if he hadn't been.

There was a change in her as they stood there. Actually, there were several. She stood stiffly at first, when he'd pulled her into the hug that _he_ could see that she needed, even if she couldn't, but then she'd leaned her forehead against him, seeming to relax and even let go a little. She seemed overwhelmed, which she was, of course, and let out a sob – undoubtedly against her will, because she seemed unwilling to let go completely.

And then suddenly something had changed, and she'd stiffened again. He couldn't help but wonder what had gone through her head. Since he couldn't know, he did the one thing that he _could_ do, and held on tighter. For some reason, it seemed to him that when she pushed people away, it was then that she actually needed him to hold on tighter… and when it came to her, his instincts were usually right.

PATTERSON, ZAPATA AND READE

They'd turned away from the monitors to look at each other when Jane had stood up, taking a breath and taking it all in. Carter had _abducted_ Jane. Despite each of their personal feelings of hatred toward Carter, this had still come as a shock to them. He was an asshole, yes, that was a given. But a corrupt one as well… that was a revelation by itself, though _not_ a surprise. It was a fact that would undoubtedly cause a stir among the FBI and the CIA alike. They couldn't help but wonder about the fallout from this part of Jane's confession, and whether this information would help or hurt her, and her chances of being let out of custody. After all, she hadn't killed Carter – at least according to what she said.

They weren't sure if there would be any more than her word to go on, of course. Whatever organization had sent Jane to the FBI, they were extremely thorough. Leaving traces of their handiwork behind was apparently just not something they did.

Weller stood up soon after Jane did, and the three agents talked quietly among themselves, just as glad for this break as the two in the interrogation room. They glanced at the monitors frequently, seeing that Jane and Kurt had yet to sit back down at the table.

As completely non-objective as Kurt was in this case, even Reade had to admit that Weller was the right one to be getting this information from her – they couldn't actually call what he was doing _interrogating_ her, since he wasn't asking her anything, she was simply telling him what had happened. He didn't need to ask her anything. They had no doubt that she would have simply continued to hold out on anyone else, but with Weller… the connection that had always been between the two was now the key to finding out the truth about Jane Doe. This was a completely unusual technique, breaking all protocol, but then again, it was Jane. There was nothing normal about her or her case, and it had been that way from the beginning.

They saw the two in the other room, at the edge of the frame, as Weller had pulled her into a hug. This wasn't the part they needed to watch, and they focused more on their own thoughts, falling silent. Zapata volunteered to go for more coffee for the group, the door seeming to echo behind her as she left.

It was going to be a long day.


	17. Daylight

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: This chapter was originally about three times as long as this, but it became so unwieldy, I've split it up into smaller ones… so the next one or two should come faster, since they're already mostly done. We're cruising toward the end of this story, but don't worry, there's plenty of heartache still to come. I hope you enjoy it!_

JANE AND KURT

He held onto her until she seemed to relax yet again, which took a little longer this time than it had last time. For some reason, even though she'd said she'd started with her worst secret, spilling all of her secrets seemed to be getting harder for her, not easier… but maybe that was just because the longer this went on, the more exhausted she was. For her sake, he hoped that there wasn't _too_ much more, mostly because he just wasn't sure how much more she could take. Besides that, the more there was to confess, the harder the legal aspects of it would be to sort out. What would become of her after all of this? He couldn't help but worry, even if the future did seem like a more distant problem just then.

She knew that she needed to stand up, walk back to the chair, sit back down across from him and get on with it. The only way to finish, to get through this nightmare that she was trapped inside, was to continue downloading all the secrets from her brain, getting them out into the open. Only when she had told him everything, absolutely _everything_ , could she finally rest. By then, she knew, he would have heard enough that he'd understand why he was better off without her. Honestly, she couldn't understand how he hadn't realized that already. Despite the fact that she knew that rejection was coming, and that it would be easier for her in the long run if she pushed him away first, she simply couldn't bring herself to do it. _Not him_. _Not this time. Not when he was there, holding onto her the way he was just then._

Taking a deep breath, she raised her head off of his shoulder, slowly lowering her arms from around him. She could feel him releasing her as well, though he seemed to do it reluctantly. He leaned back and looked at her, his face full of obvious concern. "Are you okay?" he asked. "We don't have to start again yet…"

 _I don't deserve this from him, after everything I've done_ , she thought for the umpteenth time. She tried to smile, but failed, and instead felt tears behind her eyes. _Dammit, not_ _ **yet**_ , she thought in frustration. Knowing that she needed to provide some kind of response, she forced herself to nod slightly, only succeeding in pulling away from him by forcing herself to step back, which took all her strength. Turning away from him, she walked toward the back corner of the room, clasping her arms against her, and then unconsciously bringing one hand to her mouth as she chewed on her thumbnail. When she reached the corner she turned, then continued walking around the rest of the perimeter of the room, until she was almost back where she'd started. It was the best she could do in terms of getting distance from him – not that she wanted to get away from him… not _exactly…_ but it was complicated – or from the chair where she'd been sitting to tell all of her secrets. She'd be perfectly happy never to see that chair, or another interrogation room, again for the rest of her life.

Finally, having completed the lap around the room, she walked back towards her chair, careful to detour around him so that she stayed out of his arms' reach. He'd been watching her, wondering what she was doing, and what was going through her head, trying to figure out what he should do. She seemed more distant, suddenly, but hadn't said anything to indicate either that she was unwilling to continue, or that she was finished.

On the contrary, there was obviously something bothering her that hadn't been there before. When she stepped around him, he tried not to take it personally, despite how obvious it was that she had done it on purpose. _This isn't about you_ , he told himself. He'd always known her better than she knew herself, and he could see that something inside was making her withdraw. He only hoped that she wasn't shutting down completely. As long as she was still functioning, he was fairly sure that he could pull her back out of her head. Following her back to the table and sitting down once again, he leaned forward, towards her, and simply waited, leaning his forearms against his thighs.

She had turned her chair, and her body along with it, back towards the table, and was sitting with her elbows resting on the edge, her hands up in the air, the heels of which were lying flat against her forehead. It was the kind of position someone might take if they had a bad headache, and it wouldn't be surprising if she did. Her head was leaned forward against her hands, her eyes closed, and it was obvious that it was requiring effort on her part to breathe normally.

He sat and watched her, thinking that she looked so tightly wound up just then, that if he made contact with her she might snap like a rubber band. Still, he moved his chair forward slightly, the movement making a loud scraping sound on the ground, in sharp contrast to the silence in the room. He still wasn't touching her, but he sat facing her, and his chair was now close enough to her that there was only just barely enough room for his knees between his chair and hers. He leaned his head on his left hand, anchoring himself against his left elbow, which rested on the table only a few inches from her left elbow. He was trying to walk the line between not crowding her, but letting her know that she wasn't in this on her own, and erring on the side of proximity rather than distance. After all, contact and proximity had always been what had worked with her before.

"I have to back up," she said without raising her head from her hands or opening her eyes, "to before Mayfair… was shot." She had trouble getting the last word out, and she took a few seconds to breathe before continuing. "Back to when she was arrested. That was when I first realized what all those little things that Oscar had had me doing actually _meant,_ when I first realized what I had done." She was obviously stressed, and slowly let her hands slide across her temples and down the sides of her head, finally resting them against her collarbone on each side of her neck, her elbows still braced against the table and her head now held securely between her forearms. Without realizing it, she had balled both hands into fists, and she leaned forward, her head down. Though she'd now opened her eyes, she stared at the table, which was only inches below her face, refusing to lift her head.

Kurt watched her, wanting to reach out for her, but didn't. Not yet. She was talking so far, so he let her go, though he did lean in closer to her, hoping that it would help. The small distance between them felt like a gulf that stretched for miles after spending so long holding onto her hands.

"Those little things that Oscar forced me to do – sneaking a flash drive into an FBI computer, switching Mayfair's pen for an identical one, installing the GPS tracker in our car – I only realized when she was arrested that those were all to frame Mayfair. I never thought those tasks were _innocent,_ exactly, I just didn't know what they were building up to, so it was easier to lie to myself. Tell myself that it wasn't hurting anyone. When Matthew Weitz was presenting all the evidence against her, that's when I put it together. There was more fabricated evidence, things that weren't me, too… It wasn't _just_ me, I was only part of it. Oscar did other things that made her look guilty, and maybe others too. Like for one, Weitz said they'd found a note in Carter's pocket written with Mayfair's pen – the one Oscar made me switch. Obviously, Oscar had planted the note there."

Kurt was silent and still, waiting to see what she would do. "Then Mayfair was in jail," Jane continued after a pause. "I think Oscar thought that was all that would happen to her, that she would be put away and that would be the end of it… he told me the night he shot her that, 'This isn't how we wanted it to happen.' But of course, she couldn't just let herself be framed, because she _hadn't done_ the things he – _we –_ framed her for…" She stopped again, and he watched as her whole body seemed to tense, and a shaky breath escaped her, despite what was obviously her best effort to stop it. Her eyes squeezed shut again, and he watched her, motionless.

After waiting a full minute, he sat up, no longer leaning against his left arm, but instead extending it on the table so that it stretched out in front of her. It was almost like having his arm around her without touching her. His right hand undertook the more dangerous mission. He took a risk and rested it gently on the middle of her upper back, waiting to see what she would do. Instead of tensing further, she exhaled slowly, and then almost in slow motion, she dropped her head until her forehead was resting on the table, crossing her arms over the back of her head at her wrists, as if to protect herself – from what, he didn't know. Probably _everything_ , he thought _._

She hadn't moved to actively avoid or remove his hand from her back, so he began moving it slowly, gently rubbing a circle in the middle of her back, urging her to continue. She lifted her head back up to lean the heels of her hands against the forehead again, as she had when she'd first sat down. Then finally she spoke again, just above a whisper. "Mayfair was in jail, and I went to meet Oscar, in the same basement where… he ended up shooting her, a few weeks later. That time, though, I confronted him about using me to frame her. He didn't seem to _care_ that she was being punished for crimes she didn't commit. He just said that she was responsible for some very, very bad things, and that she was getting exactly what she deserved."

Sighing heavily, she shook her head and opened her eyes, staring vacantly ahead, not even seeing his arm there in front of her. "I told him that there was nothing he could do to convince me that what he'd done was right… And then… a woman came out of the shadows. I recognized her, from before… I knew before she told me that her name was Sophia Varma."

Jane's eyes appeared to be starting to focus again, and she looked down at his arm in front of her. For a second he thought he saw her smile slightly, but it was gone as soon as it came. Closing her eyes and wincing slightly for a second, she opened them again and looked down at the table sadly. "Sophia said that she and Mayfair had fallen in love.And _I remembered…_ talking to Sophia, before… at some point when we were making the _plan_. And it was strange, because what she started telling me was the same thing I remembered telling _her_... before. It was… like she was reciting my own words back to me. I could hear them – the words – in both my ears _and_ in my memories."

She stopped for a second, letting it sink in. "She told me, just as I had told her, _before_ , that she knew I felt lost." He watched as she tried to continue, but for a few seconds she couldn't breathe, much less talk.

 _Oh course she feels lost,_ he thought. _How could she not?_

She seemed to recover admirably, however, and she continued. "I remembered telling her that they – she and Mayfair – had fallen prey to temptation. Sophia told me that they had 'used illegal intel and fake informants to force convictions that should never have stood.' I don't know why I remembered that wording so clearly. It just… materialized in my head out of nowhere."

"Daylight," Kurt whispered, just as Jane had when Sophia had described it to _her_. Jane looked up at him over her shoulder for the first time since she'd sat back down at the table, her surprise obvious. _He knew about Daylight? But… how? What else did he know that she didn't know about?_

"You knew about Daylight?" she asked, both shocked and confused.

Kurt nodded, keeping his eyes on her. He hadn't had a choice but to keep it from everyone else, but in hindsight he still felt badly about having secrets from his team. Look what secrets had done to them, after all – and he didn't even know all of them yet. "I confronted her about the Guerrero interrogation. She was supposedly his case officer, but he obviously didn't know her. I called her on it, and she finally told me about Daylight. Guerrero was just the cover for the illegal information she used. He was never an informant."

Jane lifted her head off of her hands and looked over at him, taking it all in. After a minute, she simply nodded and looked away again, her hands clenching together, then falling back against her right cheek. She took a deep breath and continued. "I remembered telling Sophia that we they had worked outside the law, and only way she could set things right was by working outside the law again. That was the only way she could buy back her soul. Sophia said that she'd tried to get Mayfair to walk away from it all, twice, but that Mayfair had refused."

"She didn't want it all to be for nothing," Kurt said softly. It was almost like this time, they each had pieces of the puzzle, pieces that made more sense when seen together. Jane closed her eyes and shook her head, listening, then opened them again and simply stared at the wall once again. Kurt continued talking. "If she'd walked away, all the criminals she'd put away would've gone free, and she couldn't stand the idea that it had all been for nothing." He thought that she'd heard him, but he couldn't be sure.

"I asked Oscar why I should trust him." Jane was almost whispering now, still staring at the wall. "He told me I _shouldn't._ That's the _only_ thing he ever said that I should have actually listened to…" Her voice cracked, and she looked back down again. "I remembered telling Sophia that she should trust herself," she said sadly. "I only wish I'd been smart enough to do that myself." Kurt watched her from the side, and the look on her face was heartbreaking, even just in profile. She finally folded her arms loosely in front of her on the table, which was all the invitation he needed. Within a few seconds, his left arm moved slowly until it was touching both of hers, his left hand curled around on her right elbow.

"Jane, you can't do this to yourself," he told her quietly.

"No, I _did_ do this to myself, remember?" she replied sharply, swinging around to look at him with a surprising amount of anger in her face. It wasn't directed at him, but at herself. "This was _my_ plan. _I_ was the one who insisted that it had to happen. That _you_ had to be the one at the center of it. Oscar may be the one who told me everything, and the only one who knew the bigger picture, but it was _me_ , all of it."

" _No_ ," he replied suddenly, just as forcefully. She could insist as many times as she wanted to that it was all her fault, and he was going to fight her every time. "We've been over this. It was _her_ , whoever she was… and you are _not_ her." He pulled his left arm more tightly around her folded arms, once again leaning closer to her little by little.

She ignored him, turning back toward the wall ahead of her, no longer facing him. "Over the next few weeks, I saw Oscar every few days. I kept trying to convince him that the ends didn't justify the means. That there had to be another way." She shook her head, staring hard at the far wall as if it had angered her. "There was nothing I could do or say. He just kept reminding me that I had no choice but to cooperate, and what the stakes were," she said bitterly. Her anger was obvious. "He didn't care that I hated every second of it, that I hated _him_. He didn't care about anything except his damn _mission._ "

He noticed that she'd said _his mission_ , at least subconsciously separating herself from it for once. _It's a start_ , he thought, but he knew there was a long, long way to go in convincing her that all this wasn't her fault.

"So I just kept _lying_ to you," she said, slowly becoming more and more frantic. After all, it was the truth, wasn't it? She _had_ been lying to him. Not because she wanted to, but what did that matter? The more she thought about it all, the more she hated herself. It didn't really matter how she thought about it, because there were now _so many_ reasons why she hated herself. She simply couldn't escape them, so she'd given up trying.

Jane's tone was acidic as she continued. "And then, two weeks later, Mayfair got out of jail on house arrest. Considering that she _was_ framed, I guess it was only a matter of time before she went after the truth, tried to clear herself." Kurt knew from experience to be that it was exhausting to be that angry, and he wondered how long she could keep it up.

Trying to diffuse Jane's anger, he told her, "I tried to get Mayfair to come clean… about Daylight. I went to see her after she got out of jail. Confessing about Daylight was the only way I could see to help her fight what had been done to her. She flat out refused, said she didn't want to jeopardize all those convictions just to vindicate herself. Said she knew that what she'd done was wrong, but… she accepted that she'd cheated the system and lost, and just told me to find another way. But I couldn't…" He sighed. _How did it all get so fucked up? How had they_ _ **all**_ _ended up lying to each other? This team that had once been such a family… They'd all trusted each other once upon a time…_

Jane had turned to look at him over her shoulder, and she just nodded and took over, slowly turning towards him. "When she broke her house arrest… well, none of us knew where she was, of course. Obviously, I had no reason to think she'd end up in the basement where I met Oscar… if I'd just kept my mouth _shut_ … I mean, I shouldn't have assumed that no one could find that meeting place. It was stupid of me. And if she hadn't heard me thinking I was talking to Oscar, then I could've just… I don't know. Maybe somehow I could've explained why I was there… maybe she wouldn't have pulled her gun on me, and Oscar wouldn't have shot her. Maybe somehow, she wouldn't have had to die… If I hadn't—"

"Jane, stop," he ordered her. "Look at me." But of course, being Jane and stubborn as hell, she did the opposite. Instead, she turned away again, pulled her arms in tightly against her and squeezed her eyes shut, attempting to force herself to breathe normally.

 _I am not here_ , she told herself. _I am not here. I am not here._ Once again, she willed herself to simply disappear. It would make life so much simpler for everyone else, especially for Kurt, if she just ceased to exist. What was he even still doing here, talking to her so patiently, as if she hadn't ruined so many lives – mostly his? She did her best to tune him out, but it was hard. Anyone else would have simply faded into the background, but she was so finely tuned to Kurt, she simply couldn't ignore him.

Sighing in exasperation, and swearing to himself that she was absolutely the most stubborn person he had ever met (with the possible exception of himself), he scooted his chair back just enough to make space between them, then he pulled her chair out from the table and turned it to face his.

She ignored him, or tried, but she was conscious of the fact that he was moving her chair, and her breathing was beginning to come faster as she felt panic taking over. She couldn't do this anymore. She just couldn't. Why couldn't they just throw her in jail and get it over with? Why did they have to keep doing this?

 _Because you owe them the truth,_ a calm voice in her head reminded her. _You owe_ _ **him**_ _the truth. Don't pretend that you're not the one who wanted to chance to tell him the truth in the first place. You wanted it more than anything. And now you have it, so you don't get to stop. Not until you're done._

He leaned forward in his chair, not sure what to do to get through to her. She seemed to have locked herself up tight and simply shut down. It was just a matter of finding the right way in, he knew, but he wasn't quite sure what the right way _was._ Currently her hands were unavailable to him, so he put his hands on her knees, squeezing slightly. "I'm not going away, Jane," he said more gently, keeping his hands still except him thumbs, which moved gently back and forth on the insides of her knees. "No matter how hard you try to make that happen. I know that's what you're doing."

As usual, it didn't take long for her to give in and listen to him – just long enough for his words to work their way inside her head. As much as she might think she wanted to fight against him, deep down, she really didn't. Even when she didn't want to admit it, she knew that she needed him. Leaning forward with her shoulders hunched, her arms stayed momentarily clamped to her chest. It didn't last, however. Gritting her teeth together as if in pain, she forced herself to release her arms from each other, pressing her palms momentarily into her thighs, in her last ditch effort to _not_ give in to the pull he had on her, before finally surrendering to her need to let him help her. She'd never been good at fighting it, after all.

Leaning forward, she slid her hands down her legs until they got halfway to her knees, then she clasped them together tightly, resting her forearms against her legs just above where Kurt had his hands on her knees.

He watched the transition, simply holding his hands still on her knees and watching her until she stopped moving again. In the past twenty-four hours, how many times had he seen her ride to the top of the emotional roller coaster and then crash back down? It was exhausting even just watching, and he couldn't imagine how it felt to be in her head. Every time, it seemed harder for her to recover, and understandably so.

She was afraid to look at him. He'd sounded so angry a moment ago, and she couldn't stand the thought of seeing his anger directed at her. _You were just as angry with him,_ she reminded herself. _HHHHiH_

 _He was only trying to get your attention… you_ _ **were**_ _kind of freaking out for a minute._

Finally, her eyes blinked open and she looked slowly back up at him. As the voice in her head had suggested, there was no anger in his eyes, just that same compassion that she was so certain that she didn't deserve.

She shook her head sadly. "I guess we were never meant to go out for a drink," she said miserably, looking into his eyes. The pain he saw there was crushing. _There's far more than a drink that was never meant to be between us_ , it seemed to be saying. She looked completely defeated.

He shook his head, letting go of her knees and once again disentangling her hands from each other so that he could hold onto them, and insisted, "You're wrong about that, Jane." His voice grew softer as he talked, and she could see that like her own words, there was a deeper meaning to what he was saying. "I still owe you _more_ than one drink, and I'm not going to forget about that." He stared at her, trying to _will_ her to understand. "Besides, you're not getting rid of me that easily. _So stop trying_."

Looking up at him surprise, she almost wanted to laugh at the absurdity of it all. "This was _easily_ , huh?" she asked, feeling her stomach drop a little, despite the fact that she _knew_ that was not what he was saying, that it was only an attempt at levity.

Shaking his head slowly, he replied, "I don't think _anything_ has ever come easily to either of us." After a pause, his smile turned mischievous, and he added, "So you admit to trying to get rid of me then?"

She knew that he was kidding, that again, he was trying to lighten the incredibly intense mood in the room, and yet… in a way she was guilty of doing just that. How many times since she'd been arrested – or even before, for that matter – had she pushed everyone away, Kurt included, and tried simply to tell herself that there was no point because she'd end up in a cell anyway? How many times had she decided that he was better off without her, and then tried to shut him out? No, she _had_ actually tried to get rid of him – but only for his own good. After all, as far as _she_ knew, none of the people around her had deserved to be caught up in the complete mess left in the aftermath of this plan of hers, a plan so secret that she had even kept it a secret from herself… no matter what Oscar seemed to think.

He'd been kidding, of course, but now he saw that he should have thought more carefully about his words. Of course she'd been pushing him away, not in a malicious way, but because she was so overtaken by guilt, and she wanted to spare others the burden of her presence. That was so very much like Jane – to sacrifice herself completely for the good of others. She'd tried to distance herself from the team to protect them in the past, after all, so it shouldn't have surprised him. Sighing, he realized that his attempt at levity had sent her back into her own head.

"Jane," he said, trying to re-establish eye contact, "I'm sorry, I didn't think that one through."

Looking back up at him, she simply nodded. She wasn't angry. After all, the things that she'd done weren't his fault. If anything, she should be insisting that he not apologize for things that he had no control over. She _wanted to_ tell him exactly that, but he couldn't bring herself to string together the words to say it.

It wasn't even mid-morning, and she was exhausted. And yet, she wanted this over and done with. Finished. What she was doing now was simply dragging it out. She needed to get herself together, finish telling him everything and then she could go back to her cell and wait for whatever punishment – whatever sentence, whatever deep, dark hole, they decided she deserved. The rest of it didn't matter, after all, because that was exactly what she deserved. Knowing this, she almost felt a calm descend over her. She wasn't getting out of this, but at least she could do the right thing. She'd done enough damage, it was time to try to make it right.

Taking a deep breath and feeling a renewed sense of determination, she suddenly started talking again, determined not to stop until she was finished.


	18. Cade and Oscar

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: Okay, so this chapter is extremely dense with information (the main reason I separated it from the previous chapter), so if I have some facts wrong, I apologize. I actually took extensive notes while watching the episodes, and used them to write this, so please forgive any discrepancies. I tried my best. But honestly, after writing this chapter and then rereading it to edit it, I feel almost as drained as Jane (just wait… you probably will, too…). And no, this is not the last chapter – though I'm not sure how many more there are._

Taking a deep breath and feeling a renewed sense of determination, she suddenly started talking again, determined not to stop until she was finished.

"After I left Mayfair…" she began, looking back up at him then, "after Oscar had shot her, after she… was already gone, when there was nothing more I could do… I went home and showered. I tried to wash the blood off my hands, but I could still feel it, no matter what I did… I still feel it now," she added, looking down at her hands, which he was holding firmly.

"There's no blood there, Jane," he told her quietly.

She attempted a smile, which disappeared as quickly as it had appeared, and then continued. "I went looking for Oscar. I knew where he lived – I'd followed him there before – and I broke in. He wasn't there. I found the gun he used to kill Mayfair. I found a picture of the two of us, on the floor under his mattress…"

She didn't even know why she told him that. It was the truth, but it seemed so unimportant. That didn't matter, however, because who was she to filter out parts of the story? She'd already shown how poor her judgement was, so she should just let him decide what was important and what wasn't.

"I was looking for something – anything – that would help me make sense of what was going on." For a moment she looked desperate, and he couldn't help thinking that he knew that feeling all too well.

Kurt listened to her quietly, thinking that while that had been happening, he'd been doing almost the same thing at _her_ safe house – looking around and trying to find something that would help _him_ make sense of what was going on. When that hadn't worked, that was when he'd decided to drive back to Clearfield. _Focus_ , he reminded him. Jane was still talking.

"I needed to find Oscar, because that morning I'd started to realize I was being followed. I went back to Ana Montes – that seventeen year old we met last year that you didn't want me befriending, remember?" she asked. The memory of that case stung a little. It had come up while they were trying to work out whether or not they needed professional boundaries, and what they should be. They'd been less that friendly towards each other, and he'd been very critical of her. Jane had been compassionate towards Ana and Kurt had given her a very hard time about it, more than once. He'd treated her compassion as a weakness, which he now knew was not the case.

"I had her track a phone number that I had been given to use 'for emergencies.' I didn't know who else to trust… I mean, it's not that I didn't trust Patterson to do it, I just…" She shook her head, not sure how to explain. "It just seemed safer not to get the FBI involved any more than any of you guys already were. It was all going to hell so fast… I didn't even trust _myself_... I know Patterson will probably never forgive me for not calling _her_ to do it, but…" Kurt shook his head at her. Even with all the far more serious things that Jane felt she needed forgiveness for, she was still worried about being forgiven for not asking Patterson to be the one to trace a phone number for her.

"I called the number, and Ana traced it. I went to the source of the number, and I waited… the guy who answered the phone when I'd called… well let's just say that when I confronted him, he wasn't exactly happy to see me. While I'd waited for him, I'd heard him saying to someone over the phone that there was an order for fifty pounds of lye under the name 'Donato.' I was pretty sure he was talking to Oscar, and I was trying to find him anyway… and then, you know, what was he doing with fifty pounds of lye…? That sounded like he was getting rid of a body, and I couldn't help but think… well, I'd seen him shoot Mayfair…" She shook her head, as if that would clear the thoughts of all of this away.

"There had been a guy named Cade, and he was the guy I'd realized was following me, which was impossible because he was supposed to be dead. He…" She realized that she had just jumped _way_ ahead of herself, and attempted to backtrack. "Cade was another guy in Oscar's organization, one of the founding members. Apparently after I…" she paused, hating to even say the words, "uh, came to the FBI… Cade had started going on about how it was all a mistake, and the plan made their… _our organization_ …" The words left a bitter taste in her mouth, but it was the truth. She'd been a part of the organization, the plan. "Cade said the plan made our organization no better than the people we were trying to stop. Oscar _said_ that Cade had tried to kill me back at the safe house, and that it was Cade who'd killed Marcos there… but it was Oscar who killed Marcos, not Cade."

Her head was beginning to hurt from the dizzying array of details she was throwing at him, and she wondered if it was making sense, but she continued. After all, if she lost him, he could always ask questions. Not that she'd know much more, if anything, than she as saying. The most important thing was just getting it all out.

"I asked Oscar how we could stop Cade – the two of us, because I didn't want to put the team in danger. He said the only way to do it was to kill him. But Cade had disappeared. There was so much else going on since then, he just wasn't the immediate problem... Anyway, I swore that Cade had been following me all that morning – that last day, when..." She broke off mid-sentence, swallowing hard, not wanting to say more about the events of the day than she had to. "Cade was the one who held a gun to my head on that ship when you guys were trapped in that sealed room… He told me that he wanted Oscar to see me die for what he'd done to Marcos… apparently Cade and Marcos had been like brothers. You guys were trapped in there, and Cade came up behind me with a gun… it took me a while to get into a less vulnerable position, but finally I did." She tried to slow down, but it was hard. All she wanted to do was get finished.

"Then before you got out of that room and made it up to the deck… Cade and I were struggling, fighting… and then suddenly Oscar shot him. We could hear you yelling my name, getting closer, and it was essential to Oscar that you not find him there… He ran straight at Cade, full speed, grabbed him and jumped off the side of the boat… I wasn't sure they were going to make it, but at the time I didn't have a chance to find out. After that… I was just supposed to believe that Cade was dead, because when I saw Oscar again, he told me that he was. Except, that became a lot more difficult to do when I saw him following me that day… the day everything happened. That was why I was looking for Oscar."

Every time she said Oscar's name, she swore she saw Kurt flinch slightly. She wondered if he was jealous…

 _Hmmm, well, you did lead into your confession with the fact that you slept with Oscar_ , she reminded herself. _Despite how completely messed up everything is, and has been, between you, you know that he cares more about you than he can actually express. The same way you do about him. You know those feelings have always been there... He probably_ _ **is**_ _jealous. Even though you both know that Oscar is_ _ **dead**_ _._

She looked down then, remembering one of her next meetings with Oscar after he'd told her that Cade was dead. She'd been trying to focus on talking about Cade, but really, Oscar seemed to pop up everywhere in her stories, just like he had popped up more and more in her reality, and she'd gone from hating him… to sleeping with him… and then…

 _And then you_ _ **killed**_ _him_ , she said, forcing herself to finish her sentence. Yes, it was appropriate for Kurt to be jealous, she decided. _There is entirely too much Oscar in her life for someone who supposedly doesn't exist_. Or only existed in a past life. Or… no, it was just too confusing.

"One of the times I met with him… Oscar… soon after he said Cade was dead, he told me…" she started quietly, suddenly dreading finishing her sentence. Her voice dropped to a whisper, "to get closer to you." She looked up at him, her face tight with apprehension as she watched for his reaction, wondering if it was her imagination, or if his jaw was clenching slightly.

 _Keep going,_ she told herself. _You can't stop now._

"You were with Allie…" She paused, now feeling her own jaw clenching. Had she added that part as a fact, or as a justification? Because really, it had been her own fault that he was with Allie. He'd been with Allie because she'd pushed him away, because she'd had to choose between him and getting answers from Oscar, and she'd chosen to try to get answers from Oscar. But it was more than that. Getting close to Kurt at that point, despite it being what she had originally wanted, would have meant telling him even more lies, which she couldn't bear to do… So the fact that he had been with Allie, she couldn't blame _him_ for that. That was simply one _more_ thing that she had done to herself. Despite how she'd tried to be happy for him, and she _had_ tried, it had been like tearing out her own heart to watch the two of them together.

She realized that she'd stopped talking and gotten lost in her own head. Somehow, the thought of him with Allie made her unable to concentrate on _anything_ other than the feeling of… what _was_ that feeling? Heartache. Loss. Falling. And her heart, shattering.

 _Don't be so dramatic_ , she told herself. Except that that _was_ really what it felt like.

Suddenly she was conscious of his hands tightening around hers. The squeeze she felt around her heart lessened when she felt his hands squeeze hers, but only a tiny fraction. She didn't look at him – she _couldn't_ , not with what she was about to say. Even without looking at him, she could barely get the words out. "Oscar said 'We need you to be the one person he trusts most.'" This was it, she was sure. _This_ was the thing he wouldn't forgive her for. "But I realized… that I had always wanted that… Not for any ulterior motive, just… because. I just hadn't realized it." She was breathing nervously, looking down at their hands, still joined together. "I told him I couldn't do it, but…" Jane was suddenly sure she was going to be sick, and there were tears in her eyes again. She dreaded his reaction, but figured that whatever it was, she deserved it.

But Kurt surprised her. "That must have been excruciating for him," he said quietly, his thumbs still moving back and forth against her hands. "I can't imagine having to do that." She looked up at him in surprise, and saw him looking into her eyes steadily. "I could _never_ do that… I just wouldn't be able to tell you to be with someone else."

It was about the closest thing either of them had ever said about the state of their relationship, whatever it was, at any point since they'd known each other. Even though it was still very vague and somewhat hypothetical, to Jane it was almost like an epiphany.

"Oh, no?" she asked, almost holding her breath for what he would say next.

He smiled then, breaking the tension and looking down at their joined hands. He moved his thumbs back and forth on the backs of her hands slowly. The look that came over his face reminded Jane of when they'd been dancing at Rich Dotcom's party, and he'd told her he'd never been married because he was 'too choosy.' He shook his head, and slowly looked back up at her. "I don't care how important the mission was, I wouldn't be able to let you go. Not if I had a _choice_." She felt her face growing hot, and she knew she was blushing as she looked back down. It was a relief that he wasn't upset about what Oscar had said. As for what Kurt had said about her... she was a little dizzy from thinking about it.

 _I wouldn't be able to tell you to be with someone else…_

 _I don't care how important the mission was, I wouldn't be able to let you go. Not if I had a_ _ **choice**_ _._

She didn't want to go back to thinking about Oscar after what he'd just said, much less talking about him, but she swallowed hard and forced herself to do it. If he could still look at her when it was all said and done, maybe he'd say more nice things to her. Otherwise, it didn't matter anyway.

Swallowing hard, she forced herself to continue. "I went back to Ana, and she found out where Oscar was picking up the lye. I went there and saw him… I was sitting in a car I had hotwired when I heard your voicemail."

He was surprised by her change of subject, that she'd gone back to her confession after what he'd said, but he understood. She had to get it all behind her. Besides that, she looked rather flustered. After all, she wasn't really in a place to be able to believe good things about herself just then, for obvious reasons, and she needed time to digest everything. There would be time for other conversations later.

She closed her eyes and shook her head, remembering. When she opened them again, she looked down. "For a second, I thought I just couldn't go on with what I was doing. Your message… it… physically hurt to listen to it. It reminded me, no matter how completely messed up everything was, how muchyou meant to me… At the same time, the whole reason I hadn't just told Oscar to go to hell, liked I'd wanted to all along, was to protect you, and it just…" Her voice broke and she shook her head, feeling tears pricking at her eyes once again. "But that message was for the Jane you thought you knew, not the one who'd been lying to you all along… I'm not the nameless person I was before, but I'm not that Jane, either. I'm just a liar."

The tears started then, silently, and by the time he looked up at her face she had dissolved in tears. He'd been moving his thumbs back and forth across the backs of her hands, but suddenly she pulled her hands back from his. She leaned forward, pushing her elbows into her knees, _hard_ , and buried her face in her hands. Her fair fell forwards around her, mercifully blocking what little part of her view of him that her hands didn't. It was too much. She wasn't the woman she'd been in those memories, and she was also no longer the woman Kurt had thought she was, either. She was… a liar, a mole, a double agent… she was no one who deserved any trust, any favors or any forgiveness.

He looked at her in surprise, remembering that voicemail he'd left her, back before he'd found out the truth. He had been so relieved that he _hadn't_ found Taylor's remains in his father's backyard, and he hadn't yet realized that he was merely looking in the wrong place…

"Jane…" he said, taken aback, not knowing what else he could do if she chose not to believer her. "That message was for _you_." She looked up at him sadly, her face wet with tears, clasping her hands loosely together in front of her, still hunched over and leaning her elbows against her knees for support. Shaking her head sadly, she opened her mouth to protest, but he was faster. "We've been over this," he said gently. "I _know_ you. We both could've done things better, maybe, but you _are_ the Jane I knew. That I still know."

She smiled sadly, looking away, hearing what he was saying but not allowing it to sink in. It was too dangerous to believe good things about herself, because it hurt too much when she realized, as she inevitably would all over again, that they were all lies. "As much as I wanted to stop then and there… more than I ever had before… There was no choice, I had to keep going. The threat against you was always there…" She looked up at him reluctantly, and he nodded in understanding.

"It's okay," he told her softly.

Instead of arguing with him, she just shook her head sadly, then went on. "I followed Oscar back from Rock Chemical Wholesalers to an abandoned barn," she said, finally able to continue, looking away again. "He was bringing the lye inside… and suddenly I had a memory of sparring with him, of knocking him down. Before, when I'd known him. I'd told him, 'When we meet again, I will come at you… I don't want your feelings clouding your judgement.'"

Jane looked back at him then, and he could see the wheels turning as she stared at him for a few seconds. "We had talked about it, what it would be like when I didn't know him anymore."

Sighing tiredly, she went on. "I followed him into the barn. There was a body bag on the ground… I was guessing that it was Mayfair, but before I could look inside, Oscar had snuck up behind me and shot me with a stun gun. I passed out, and I was still groggy when I woke up. Oscar was fiddling with something… Then before I was fully conscious, I had another memory. I remembered him saying, 'It feels like the end.' And she – _I_ – told him…" she hesitated, biting her lip.

He reached for her hands again, squeezing gently, and she glanced up at him, her expression pained, before looking back down. She couldn't say it, not while looking at Kurt. "I told him that I loved him," she whispered. She swallowed hard, and felt a combination of relief and nausea, but forced herself to continue. "I said, he knew how I'd grown up, that I never thought that _any of this_ – whatever it was – would be possible for me. That someone named Shepherd kept telling me that it would happen one day, but that I hadn't believed it."

Pausing again and taking a breath, she continued without prompting. "I told him that it wasn't the end, that we'd… find each other again, on the other side of… _this_. A man came to the door then. I could only see the outline of him, because it was so bright outside… I told him we were ready." She looked up at him hesitantly, unsure of what she would see on his face. As difficult as Kurt had found it to listen to the memory of Oscar, he knew that it was something she needed to say. Actually, he was astounded that she seemed to have decided to tell him so much. Besides, listening to what she had to say was nothing compared to having to live through it, and then talk about it. He had to work at it a little, but he smiled encouragingly.

"Then suddenly I came to again, and I was in the barn. He'd tied me to a chair. He… apologized for failing me. He said, he didn't blame me for hating him, and all he could do was promise that he wouldn't make the same mistakes next time."

"Next time?" Kurt asked, unable to help himself. Even knowing that Jane had escaped, and that Oscar was dead, he was still getting chills from the implications of what Oscar was trying to say.

She nodded. "That's what I said. But Oscar said that the mission couldn't continue, that our relationship was too compromised and he was going to start from scratch. He had 4 bottles of ZIP…" Kurt's eyes widened in understanding. "He was going to wipe my memory again." Their eyes met, and for a second, it wasn't clear which of them looked more afraid.

"I begged him not to do it. He told me that I had no idea who I was… I said that," she swallowed hard, looking away from him again, "I knew I was Taylor Shaw, that this was all my idea, and that… we were in love. _Before_ ," she added for emphasis. "He'd set up an IV bag near me. He said that yes, we were in love, and that it _had_ all been my idea… but that it was Shepherd's mission and always would be." He looked at her in confusion, and she glanced at him again. "I still don't know what the mission was, not exactly," at which he nodded, and then she looked away, feeling anxious at the thought of what came next.

"And then he told me that no…" She'd been looking off over his shoulder again, but she forced her eyes back to his. Her voice came out only in a whisper. "I was never Taylor Shaw." Chills ran through her whole body, and she shivered involuntarily. _Keep going,_ she told herself. _Don't stop now. Just get it over with._

"They – _we_ – had broken into the evidence locker in Clearfield over a year ago. They replaced Taylor's DNA samples with mine. He called me Taylor because she – _I_ – figured that it would be easier… As he was talking, he was preparing the first ZIP injection. I was tied to the chair, and all I knew was that I… I couldn't let him do it. I didn't want to forget again. I'd agreed to it the first time, not knowing what it would be like, and thinking that no matter how bad it was, it was worth it for the mission. But I… that was her, and I'm not her… I've been through it, now, and I… there was _no way_ I would give up what little I have – _had_ , now... This wasn't my mission, after all. It was _theirs,_ _ **hers**_. But I wasn't _her_ anymore, and I wasn't going to let him do it. I couldn't stand the thought of losing _everything_ , all over again. I couldn't stand the thought of losing—" she looked at him and stopped, a terrified look on her face. "Y _ou_ ," she whispered.

He took her hands, which he'd been slowly holding more and more tightly, and pressed them together between his. Then, leaning forward in his chair, he pulled their joined hands towards him, resting them against his face, his head down, almost as if in prayer. For a minute, he had trouble breathing normally. He'd come so close to losing her repeatedly since she'd shown up in Times Square, but this time may have been the closest call. Never mind that he now knew that she had never been Taylor. No, Taylor was gone, and had been for many years… but Jane, Jane was _here._ She was here, and in the short time, relatively speaking, that he'd known her, he'd almost lost her over and over. If Oscar had erased her memory… She wouldn't have been dead, but she would no longer have been Jane… He would've lost her for good… And _she_ would've had to start over from nothing… _**Again**_.

 _But Oscar failed_ , Kurt had to remind himself, looking up at her, suddenly needing additional confirmation that she was there in front of her. He slowly lowered their hands from his face, keeping them intertwined together in one large knot. Leaning his forearms against his legs, he let their hands dangle between them.

He looked back at her, taking a deep breath. "Sorry," he said, and couldn't think of anything else to say.

 _Why are you sorry?_ he asked himself.

 _For_ _ **all of it**_ _,_ he thought. Not for the things that _he'd_ done, necessarily, just that any of it had had to happen at all. It was more empathy than sympathy, really.

She shook her head, smiling sadly at him. "I asked Oscar why me, and why Taylor? He said it was because of you…" When he looked confused, she continued, "He said that in phase one they wanted Mayfair out, but didn't want her replaced by someone worse. So the tattoos," she glanced down at herself, then back up at him, "would take down their – _our_ – enemies and give you so many wins, you'd be the obvious successor…" she added, bitterness seeping into her voice.

"They figured that they could control you. That _I_ could control you. Apparently I was never supposed to have flashbacks. Oscar blamed Marcos, and said that Marcos was too conservative with the dose of ZIP he had given me. But Oscar promised not to make that mistake again." Her breath caught as she though yet again how close she had come to being erased again. It was terrifying to think about what might have happened, had things gone just a little bit differently.

"Sitting there, I remembered Marcos telling me, just before he dosed me, just before I stopped being _her,_ that everything I had been would cease to exist." I hadn't known his name until then, until Oscar told me that, and I put it together. Oscar had wanted me to think that Cade had killed Marcos, but that was when I realized that Oscar had killed him, that night in my first safe house, which was why Cade was after Oscar. He said that Marcos was handling Chao, who was supposed to die. When he didn't, it was up to Marcos."

 _The man in the hospital,_ Kurt thought. _The doctor that no one could identify._

"Shepherd was apparently the one who said that Marcos had to go. Oscar said that instead of 'facing it like a man,' Marcos had tried to turn me against them. That was why he was in my safe house." She looked at him, thinking back to Marcos telling her not to trust _them._ "The _them_ that I wasn't supposed to trust was Oscar and his team. Marcos and Cade had been like brothers, so Cade wanted to punish Oscar by killing me, so Oscar would be as devastated as he was. As far as Shepherd, he only ever told me that he was their leader."

She paused again, and thought fleetingly that her mouth was dry from talking so steadily for so long… but she didn't want to stop. Not now. She just wanted it all over with. "I asked him about phase two – since Mayfair was phase one. He was cryptic about it, but it didn't sound good. He said something about how the government was corrupt and didn't care about the people, that it was too broken. Their plan was to 'burn it to the ground so we can start again.' And knowing what else they'd done, what they were capable of, that scared me."

Again, she stopped and took a deep breath, obviously shaken. "He told me that I'd said, that I'd _promised_ , that I'd 'love him no matter what.' And he said he was sorry that that was what it would take." She looked down at where his thumbs were moving back and forth along her hands.

"We can stop, Jane. Do you need a break?" he asked her. He could see that she was approaching her breaking point. But she only shook her head.

"No," she replied emphatically, gathering her strength to continue. At that point, she was running on determination alone, because she was emotionally drained. She knew what was coming, after all. "I told him that he'd left a trace," she told Kurt. "That Mayfair had found him, after all, so there was obviously a trace somewhere… I asked him what would Shepherd say about that, or if he even knew…" She closed her eyes and shook her head, not wanting to remember, but knowing that she had to. She felt the now familiar sensation of his thumbs against her hands, and she allowed herself a few seconds to focus only on that, then opened her eyes again and continued.

"He told me that he loved me, and that he'd see me in a little while, 'on the other side of all this.' He had that tiny needle, ready to inject me with it. I was still tied to the chair, and not really in any position to defend myself… so I head butted him, _hard_ , which threw him backwards. The lantern on the table fell over, the glass broke, and a fire started on the floor."

"And you were still tied to the chair?" Kurt asked, looking worried despite the fact that she had obviously survived. He'd barely asked any questions as she'd been talking, but he was trying to keep track of what was going on, and this seemed like a crucial piece of information.

"Yeah, I… I got up and flipped myself over and landed on my back, which broke the chair in pieces…" she admitted, blushing slightly, and smiling just a little for the first time in what felt like a very long time.

He chuckled, shaking his head, glad for a moment of levity. "Of course you did," he said with a smile. She was incredible, and that was all there was to it. "I probably should have expected that."

She smiled along with him, but it lasted only a few seconds before her face clouded over again. "I was now free from the chair, and Oscar hadn't moved on me again yet. I told him I was bringing him in, that there weren't going to be any more secrets or lies. He insisted that I wasn't the FBI, that I _hated_ the FBI, that the entire government had betrayed me, but of course, he didn't tell me what he was talking about…" Sighing, she took a breath. Getting the words out was getting increasingly difficult – as was breathing, for that matter

"He got his hands on a big metal pole, and then I guess all that training we'd done before he wiped my memory came in handy, because we were _really_ fighting. He said he didn't want to hurt me, that it didn't have to be this way… And of course while we were fighting, that fire on the floor had been getting bigger and bigger. By that point the whole barn was on fire around us, but neither of us was going to give up. Giving up meant he was going to wipe my memory."

She bit her lip, hard, and closed her eyes, desperately not wanting to remember… but she had no choice. "We both just kept swinging and kicking at each other. The stakes were too high for either of us to stop. I picked up the only thing I saw, which… was an axe…" She trailed off, momentarily unable to continue.

 _Oh my God,_ he thought. He saw where this was going, and it was pretty horrible. He tried to imagine being in her place. Squeezing her hands tightly now, he stared at her, trying to get her to look at him, but without success.

"I didn't even have time to think about how I was holding it… We were both moving so fast, and… I swung it at him… I was holding the handle, and…. the… the blade was down and facing away from me…" She squeezed her eyes closed, tears escaping and rolling down her cheeks, before she forced them open again. "The blade hit him in the stomach as I turned around towards him quickly. I don't know which of us was more surprised… For a few seconds we just looked at each other… and then…" she sighed raggedly, and he tried in vain to think of something, _anything_ , he could do for her.

"He fell to the ground right there in front of me… The barn was almost completely on fire now, and there was nothing I could do for him…" She was shaking her head, trying not to remember, even though she had no choice. Her voice was only a whisper as she gasped, " _I cut him open with an axe, and then I ran out and left him there to be burned alive,"_ she choked out, now sobbing. "And then I got back to my safe house…"

"And I was there," he said in a low voice, only now putting the pieces together. "And I…" Kurt suddenly found that he couldn't go on either. He leaned all the way forward in his chair, dropping his head and lifting their joined hands until his forehead was pressed against them. He stayed that way for a full minute, before he realized that his reaction wasn't helping her as much as it was him. While he felt like the Earth had just tilted under his feet, this really wasn't about him at all, and however badly he felt, she was feeling a hundred times worse. He looked up at her, the realization of exactly what he'd done crashing down over him yet again.

Before he knew it, Jane had pulled her hands away from him and stood up, walking quickly to the far corner of the room and folding her arms tightly around herself, leaning her forehead into the corner and shaking with sobs. She'd never had time to really process what had happened, since, as Kurt had just realized, he'd arrested her pretty much immediately after she'd accidentally killed Oscar. Never mind that she hadn't been in love with him, in her current life, it had still been horrible and traumatic to experience. She'd been numb that night, but right now… now she was making up for it, feeling everything, magnified what felt like a thousand fold.

She couldn't think, couldn't move, could barely breathe, only sob into the corner of the FBI interrogation room as if her heart was breaking. She deserved this, all this and so much more, and once the FBI was finished with her, she would undoubtedly be put away in the deepest, darkest hole, worse even than the one that Carter had had planned for her. It would serve her right, too. All the things that she had done, all the people that she had hurt… it was past the point of forgiveness, no matter how understanding anyone might be.

When she'd pulled her hands away from him, he'd been startled at first. He'd been stunned by the end of her story, and his mind was still reeling from the realization that he'd assumed the worst about her, and treated her horribly, immediately after she'd just accidentally killed her ex-fiancé and narrowly avoided being burned alive, barely escaping with her life. That was a lot to swallow, after all.

When he looked up, she had already positioned herself in the far corner of the room, crying harder than anyone he'd ever witnessed before. He stood up and quickly followed her, stopping just behind her and slowly putting his hand on her shoulder. "Jane," he said, hoping to be heard over her sobs. "I'm sorry…"

 _ **He's**_ _sorry?_ She thought frantically, _What is he even still doing here? How in the world can he be_ _ **sorry**_ _?_ She hunched her shoulders further forward, attempting to get away from him – not that she had anywhere to go, since she'd trapped herself in a corner. He stepped up closer behind her, leaning his face beside the left side of head so that she couldn't help but hear him, his body against the wall to her left but stretching his right arm out behind her, so that his right hand touched the wall on her right, giving her no way to avoid him. "I wasn't kidding when I said you weren't getting rid of me that easily, Jane." When she didn't answer, he continued, "Jane… I'm sorry." But that only seemed to make her cry harder. She unclenched her arms from around the front of her and put her forearms up against the wall in front of her, burrowing them into the corner, burying her face in them.

Reasoning with her wasn't working, obviously, so she had to try something more dramatic. Carefully putting his arms around her waist, he attempted to pull her away from the corner. He knew that on a normal day, she could probably knock him down easily, especially since he wasn't exactly in a defensive stance… but as despondent as she was at that moment, he hoped that what he was doing wasn't risking his life. He tugged her backward toward him, then attempted to turn her around to face him. However, after moving her back slightly, he didn't have any luck with turning her around, so instead he stepped around her, squeezing himself into the corner that she'd been fighting so hard to push herself into just a minute before. She attempted to turn away from him, but he managed to catch her, holding on tight before she could turn away, pulling her into him tightly.

"I'm sorry," he whispered loudly again, "But Jane, it's going to be okay." He leaned back into the corner, now glad for the support it gave him, and pulled her as close as he could. She'd worked herself up about as much as she could take and then some, and now it was going to be a while before she could calm down. He sincerely hoped that he'd now heard everything, if for no other reason than for her sanity's sake. He just wasn't sure she could take any more of this. Definitely not any time soon.

It took what felt like a long time, but her breathing slowly evened out. At some point, when she opened her eyes and became conscious of her surroundings again, she realized that she was standing at the opposite end of the interrogation room from the table where she'd spent more of her time the past few days, that her head was on Kurt's shoulder, and that his arms were wrapped around her securely. He glanced down at her, seeing that her eyes were now open again, and smiled at her. There had been so much talk – mostly hers – between them, and it just didn't seem necessary to say anything just then. She raised her head only slightly to look at him, then smiled weakly back at him, replacing her head on his shoulder. To say that she was exhausted would have been a major understatement.

One look at her face told him that even holding on to him, that more than anything, she needed to rest. "Hey," he said to the side of her head, which he had the best view of, "let's sit down." She mumbled some sort of noise in protest, but he suspected that it was based mainly on the fact that she didn't want to go back to that table, or even the chairs, where she'd already spent so much time. He couldn't really blame her. "No, right here," he told her. "Just sit down, you're exhausted." After all, he'd seen her sit on the interrogation room floor plenty of times… though he hoped those weren't the times she'd remember just then.

Being in the corner, he slid easily to the floor, and she lowered herself immediately afterwards. She looked at him unsurely before simply scooting towards him, leaning her left side against him and her head back on his shoulder, her legs curled up beside her. He pulled her closer, leaving his arms around her loosely. There they sat, quietly, and he had absolutely no intention of moving any time soon. Of course they couldn't stay there forever, but for the time being, sitting there quietly, relaxed against each other, beat the hell out of everything but the way they had woken up that morning. He listened to her breathing, bringing his right hand up to smooth out her hair, and allowing his mind to drift. He couldn't be sure, but he was fairly sure that she'd fallen asleep. That didn't sound like a bad idea, actually, but his mind was still spinning, and he doubted he'd be sleeping any time soon.

It was a surprise then, when he found himself waking up in that same corner, Jane still curled against him. The clock told him that it was almost two hours later. There was a tray of food from the cafeteria sitting on the table, no doubt delivered from one of their team members. Even though it was well into mid-afternoon and they hadn't eaten since the donuts they'd each had at breakfast, he couldn't think about food – not only because he had Jane was snuggled against him – though he had to admit, that _was_ a good reason to stay where he was. No, it was hard to think about food when his stomach was in knots over everything that had happened.

Sighing, all he could do was be thankful that at that exact moment, there was a break from the torment of the past twenty four hours… longer than that, really. It had been nearly two weeks since everything had spiraled so quickly out of control, inflicting various forms and degrees of torment on each of them. Would there be more? He didn't know. But just then, in this unexpected moment of stillness, he was still processing what he had already learned.

So many things still hung over them, not least of all what Jane's fate would be after everything was said and done. Still, at least she wasn't currently torturing herself, as she continued to sleep, curled into the side of him.

For that small mercy, after she had endured so many hours – no, _days_ – of continuous pain, he was grateful.


	19. Flashbacks

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: Sorry this update has taken a while. I'm actually on vacation, and that combined with the length of this chapter meant that it took a while to get it written. There will be one more chapter after this… in the meantime, I hope you enjoy this one._

JANE AND KURT

She woke up slowly, still feeling exhausted… drained… like maybe she'd been severely beaten or tortured – and having actually experienced those things, she knew what they felt like. As she began to stir, taking slow breaths to try to remember why she might be feeling so much pain, both physical and emotional, each of her senses began to check in with her brain, sending data about her surroundings. Even before she opened her eyes, she became aware of the fact that she was already sitting up, despite having just woken up, that she was possibly on the floor, and that her head was pounding. Her face hurt, her throat was dry, and she just generally felt sore all over. Simply put, she felt like shit.

And yet, there was simultaneously a sense of peace, the origin of which she couldn't figure out. _How can I feel so horrible, and yet so…_ she couldn't even think of a word to describe it. For some reason, she felt… _safe._ As though she'd been through something horrible, and yet she just _knew_ that she was alright. But _how_? Was that even possible?

Opening her eyes slowly, she saw fuzzy images in front of her at first. As she had thought, she was indeed on the floor in a room… Within seconds, she recognized it as the interrogation room where she'd spent so many of the past long days, and mainly, the especially horrible last few days. She felt herself tense involuntarily, seeing the two chairs that sat facing each other by the table nearby. They were simply not far enough away for her _not_ to be tense at the sight of them. But… why?

 _Two chairs…_ Her mind was working slowly. _One for me and one for…_ _ **Kurt**_.

She was about a split second away from panicking when she realized why the sight of those same chairs made her so anxious, but that was when she suddenly realized why she felt so at peace. Glancing down, she saw two arms wrapped loosely around her, tightening slightly as she shifted. She realized then that she was laying against him – the owner of those two arms – and of course, it was none other than Kurt. Sitting up tentatively and looking at him, she winced when the shift of position made her headache pound harder. Suddenly embarrassed and tense on top of everything else in her that ached and screamed in pain, it became clear that she must have fallen asleep against him.

"Sorry, I… I guess I…" She was breathing quickly, suddenly flustered, wondering how in the world she'd ended up falling asleep at all, much less basically in Kurt's lap, and on the _floor_. She had absolutely no memory of ending up there.

Kurt just smiled at her, still sleepy from the nap he'd been taking right along with her while she'd been asleep. It was a little like waking up beside her in the cell, except this time instead of waking up and smiling at him, she seemed panicked and disoriented. "Hey," he said calmly, unclasping his hands from around her so that he could set one hand on her shoulder, running it down her arm smoothly to her hand, clasping it in his. "Are you okay?" He watched as she took a deep breath, looking around the room in confusion.

"Why are we — did we _sleep_ on the floor?" she asked, her headache getting worse the more she tried to remember.

He chuckled slightly, because he could understand why she was confused. With the hand that he was holding, he adjusted his grip so that he could draw the same circles in her palm that he'd been doing while they'd sat in front of each other at the table, and he felt her begin to relax almost immediately. "You got through what you were trying to say," he said gently, "at least, I _think_ you did, and you… looked like you needed space… You got up and walked down to this corner." He paused, not really knowing how much she remembered, or whether it was helpful or hurtful to remind her of what had happened a few hours ago. Maybe it was better if she didn't remember…

 _Well_ _ **that's**_ _a slightly ironic thing to say about Jane, isn't it?_ he asked himself almost accusingly. But it wasn't that he _wouldn't_ tell her, just that it seemed unnecessarily cruel to remind her of what she'd been through that had clearly upset her so much… He just wasn't sure how much to say.

Memories suddenly assaulted her, and there was a sinking feeling in the pit of her stomach as it all began coming back at once. She realized quickly that Kurt was telling the sanitized version of the story. He wasn't lying, but he was going out of his way not to remind her of how traumatic the whole thing had been, or of how hard she'd been crying…

 _No wonder I feel like I've been dragged behind a truck,_ she thought, wincing at just the memory of earlier that day.

As she nodded her head slowly for lack of anything to say, even that small action made her wince. As he watched her, a faraway look came across her face that told him that she now remembered, if not all of it, then most of it. Her eyes closed against the memory, the sound of her own sobs echoing in her head, and she tensed all over, laying her head back down against his chest. He was awake now, and he wrapped his free hand around her, pulling her closer, as his other hand continued to rub circles into her palm. "Sssshhhh," he said soothingly. "It's over. It's okay."

She took what was supposed to be a deep breath, but it caught in her throat and became more like a choked sob than anything else, which only caused him to hold on tighter to her. "I think my head's going to explode," she said, the sound muffled as she leaned against him.

Looking down at her in concern, he asked, "Bad headache, huh?" She nodded slightly against him, immediately regretting it and wincing so hard in pain once again that this time, her whole body shuddered against him. Wishing that he didn't have to move, he reluctantly let go of her hand and dropped his other arm from where it had wrapped around her, shifting slightly to dig out his phone. He knew that one of the agents on his team would have something for that. He still had one arm on each side of her, and held his phone out to the right side of her as he typed, since she had her left side of her curled against him.

As she felt the slight motion of him tapping the screen of his phone – still too much movement as far as she was concerned – she tried to will herself to forget the things that she was suddenly remembering. _That's new,_ she thought, _trying to forget instead of trying to remember._ At the same time, however, she knew that she couldn't forget them. After all, this was part of her penance, her punishment. Correction: this was only the _beginning_ of her punishment.

 _Is there anything that_ _ **isn't**_ _a part of my punishment?_ she wondered to herself. The answer came less than a split second later. _Of course there is,_ her inner voice replied. _Kurt. Whatever the reason that he's still here, he's far from a punishment._ She smiled in spite of everything, in spite of the pain in her head, or the terrible things that she'd done.

 _But losing him would be_ , the voice in her head reminded her, as almost an afterthought. She tried to push the thought away as quickly as it had come, simply unable tothink about that just then – she had reached her maximum capacity for suffering that day... or she certainly _hoped_ that she had.

His arms were suddenly clasped around her again, and he told her, "Patterson's going to bring down something for your head." She wanted to nod, but she'd finally learned that she didn't actually want to just then, so instead she just whispered, "Okay." In the meantime, she would just try not to move at all.

"Do you want something to eat? It looks like someone brought us… something. I can't quite see what it is from down here…" He craned his neck as much as he could without disturbing Jane, but to no avail.

She wanted to shake her head, but considering the pain she was already feeling, decided against it. "No, I don't think food's a good idea at the moment… I actually feel kind of sick," she said quietly. She knew she'd have to eat eventually, but just not _now_ …

He looked at her in surprise, realizing that he probably should have thought about this before. "You had that donut this morning… Besides that, when was the last time you ate, anyway?" he asked her with concern. "Didn't they bring you anything?" The FBI had strict protocols for the treatment of detainees… he cringed inside when he realized that that was the category she currently fell under.

"No, they did," she replied quickly, not wanting to admit that she had simply been refusing to eat most of it. "I don't know, I just… haven't been able to look at food most of the time. A little bit of bread here and there." She watched as the look on his face reflected shock and concern, looking away quickly. She knew how it sounded, and that he was going to overreact. _I know I need to eat, I just…_ It was simple, really - her stomach had been in knots, and food had been the last thing on her mind… even just the thought of food was too much most of the time.

For whatever reason, when she said that it only made him pull her a little tighter. He felt powerless to help her, and he _hated_ that feeling. She was in so many different kinds of pain, and there was nothing he could do about any of them… it was endlessly frustrating, because he was _not_ used to being in a position where there was nothing he could do. Kurt Weller was the guy who solved problems, who saved people if it was humanly possible… but Jane… no, he was failing her, and not just a little bit. He was failing her completely, or so he suddenly _felt._

 _Just the same way I failed Taylor completely_ , he thought miserably _._

 _It's not the same,_ his mind countered. _Jane is still here._

 _And yet, she's drowning in all of this… whatever the hell it is,_ he screamed back silently, _and there's nothing that I can do to stop it, nothing that I can do to help her…_

 _You_ _ **are**_ _helping her,_ the voice replied calmly. _You're the_ _ **only**_ _one who can help her_. _Can you_ _ **really**_ _not see that?_ He just sighed, and held on a little tighter.

They just sat there like that, in a little ball curled up together in the corner of the interrogation room, until a few minutes later, when they heard the click of the lock on the door. Patterson came in, glancing around until she saw them. She walked over to them and crouched down hesitantly. "Hey, guys," she whispered, glancing at both of them before her eyes settled on Jane. She had a bottle of Tylenol and two bottles of water, which she set down on the floor in front of them. "Jane, are you okay?" she asked quietly with concern.

Knowing that her friend had seen and heard everything, she sighed and made a valiant effort to smile – which failed – before she replied, "Better than a few hours ago, I guess." Jane picked up the bottle of pills and fiddled with the top of it half-heartedly, to no avail. "Not that that says much," she added tiredly. Patterson just nodded as she watched Weller take the bottle from Jane as he might have done for a child and open it easily, shake out two pills onto his palm and then hold them out to her. She didn't protest, didn't resist, but actually looked relieved.

She took the pills, holding them in her own palm and staring at them as if she'd never seen them before. Meanwhile, he opened one of the water bottles and held it for her while she put the pills in the back of her throat, then took the water from him gratefully and swallowed the pills. When those were gone, she took another long drink of water.

"You guys need anything else?" Patterson asked softly.

"I don't think so…" he looked down at Jane questioningly.

Still not wanting to shake her head, she said, "No," in a voice so quiet, they almost didn't hear her despite being right in front of her. Patterson just nodded, trying to smile as she glanced back and forth between them once more. She didn't think she'd ever seen Jane look so fragile, and it ran counter to the way she thought about her. Despite knowing very well what Jane's mental state had been when she'd come to them, she still thought of her as almost superhuman. Look at all the things she could do, after all…

"Okay, well… you get some rest, Jane," she said softly, standing back up. "At least we know you're in good hands." She tried to smile reassuringly at her friend, truly feeling pain for the situation in which she found herself. Patterson simply couldn't imagine being in her place.

"Thanks, Patterson," Kurt said with a grateful smile. The blonde took the bottle of pills and set it on the table, leaving the two water bottles on the floor by where they were sitting, then walked quietly to the door. Kurt couldn't help but wonder if the rest of the team was still assembled in the monitoring room, watching the cameras… not that it really mattered. That hadn't even entered his mind when he'd ended up on the floor with Jane. He opened the second water bottle and took a drink, then replaced the cap and set it down beside him, pulling her closer once again.

The pounding in her head gradually receded to a dull ache, and she began to regain her ability to think clearly. There were a few things left that she was going to have to tell him, and it would be so much easier when it was over…

He'd been quiet for a while now, and was surprised to hear her speak again. "I need to tell you something else… a few more things," she told him in a quiet voice, sitting up enough that her head wasn't leaning against him, but her body still was.

"Okay," he said encouragingly.

"We don't have to get up, do we? And go back to the table…?" At that point she was more afraid of having to go back to the table than she was of the things that she had left to say. Smiling, he shook his head gently.

"No, we're fine right here," he assured her, feeling her relax slightly.

"Okay," she sighed, and figured there was no time like the present. "There a couple more… memories. _Her_ memories…"

"From before?" he asked. It was how they'd been referring to the time before she was Jane, when she had been… whoever that woman was. Simply as _before._

She nodded slightly, feeling it in her head, though not as badly, and immediately wishing that it was already over with. _Almost there_ , she told herself. Taking a deep breath, she thought back to those offensive memories. They were holding so much power over her only because she'd never spoken of them aloud, she knew, so if she made herself do just that, maybe they would finally fade.

Unable to meet his eyes, she swallowed hard. "I shot someone in a church…" she began, diving right in. "I think it was a man… he was dressed as a nun, and I shot him in the back of the head… three times…" Despite a valiant attempt to block it out, she saw the now familiar scene flash before her eyes. "It wasn't a nun though," she said, attempting not to lose her composure. "He fell down, and I saw that underneath the nun's robes he had on some kind of uniform – military, maybe? But not the US military, I don't think. Something plain…" She paused there, feeling the headache that hadn't quite gone away starting to gain strength again, and she wondered if she should have waited before starting again.

 _It doesn't matter_ , she thought. _Just get it out. All of it. And then you'll know once and for all what he's going to do with the truth, how he's going to react._

"He had fallen forward, and I turned him over. He was dead. In one of his pockets he had a flash drive on a chain, with a small number pad on it. I took it… I don't know what it was… That's all I remember. I don't know… who he was, or what was on the flash drive, or… anything else about why I was there, what I was doing…"

She fell silent then, and Kurt just nodded. "Jane," he said softly, "you know that wasn't _you_."

At some point while she'd been talking, one of his hands had once again found hers, and was drawing the now familiar circles in her palm, while the other arm was around her back, his hand tucked gently at her waist, holding on to her.

"I know," she whispered. He knew that she knew that in _theory_ , but he also knew that she felt a crushing guilt over the things that that "other her" had done, and that she was going to need a lot of reminders.

He got the feeling that even if that particular memory was finished, there was still more coming – that's just how well he could read her. Besides, she didn't yet look relieved, as he imagined that she would if she was finished. On the contrary, she looked very anxious.

"I know we found the Navy Seal tattoo a long time ago," she began again, "but I remember some training… besides what I told you about. It wasn't just the course in the woods. It was something more… official. I was wearing a uniform – camouflage – and I was on some kind out outdoor obstacle course, or something…" She struggled to remember the details. This one might be more important than the one in the church, after all. This one included Carter and Orion. "I was crawling through the mud and… There was a guy – an officer, I guess – screaming at me… He kept saying that if I couldn't take it, I should ring a bell. There was actually a bell there, too… I guess that was what you did if you decided you couldn't take it anymore… He kept telling me to ring the bell and quit."

"I can't imagine you quitting anything," Kurt told her softly.

"That's the thing," she told him, "I heard the bell ring… I was climbing a rope, and I remember struggling. I was up high, but I couldn't get any higher. Another man was screaming at me to quit, and to ring the bell… And then I fell all the way down and hit the ground… and then I _did_. I rang the bell. I just don't understand _why._ "

This surprised Kurt, because the last thing the woman who Jane was now would ever do was quit. He sat quietly, waiting for her to go on.

"Then the next thing I remember is that it was night… and I was sitting in a car with a different man. Both of us were wearing the same uniforms as before. And I said, 'You have no idea how much it killed me to ring that bell.' He told me, 'You cleared your part well.' So I asked him, 'Now what?' And he said, 'Now the real work begins. Welcome to Orion.'"

She paused then, waiting for his response. _Orion_. That had been something they'd heard before. From Casey, the jewel thief, early on… and it had been what had led Patterson to almost get herself killed, investigating a tattoo on her own.

"Then, I remember being in a hallway… wearing the same uniform… and I walked by Carter…"

"Tom Carter? From the CIA?" Kurt interjected, more than a little bit surprised.

She just nodded, still unable to meet his eyes, and continued. "He was wearing a suit, standing in the hall and talking to someone else. He didn't know me then, or at least… he didn't seem to recognize me. He told them, 'The program's called Orion.' The night that Carter… when I was abducted… that was the night I remembered that part, and I was stupid enough to mention it to him while he was in the middle of torturing me…"

Every muscle in Kurt's body clenched at the mention of what Carter had done to Jane. If the man hadn't already dead, Kurt couldn't be sure that he wouldn't have killed him himself, so strong was his hatred of Carter since learning what he'd done to Jane.

"He never told me anything, of course… I also asked Oscar about it, about Orion, once. He didn't want to tell me… all he would tell me was, 'Orion is where you died.'"

She sat rigidly, not looking at Kurt, just looking down at their hands, at the floor, at anything except at him. _Waiting_. Without realizing it, she had been holding her breath after her admission, especially the part about Carter and Oscar. She felt him exhale slowly, as if he was trying to take it all in, and she hazarded a glance at him. Though she couldn't explain why, she was afraid that this would change something… which seemed silly, since they both knew that this was someone else's memory.

 _Besides_ , she tried to remind herself, _if he didn't hold the things against you that were_ _ **so much worse**_ _, then why would he start now?_ Still, she couldn't relax until she looked into his eyes and saw that he wasn't angry… which is just what she did then, and it was just what she saw.

Her relief lasted only a few seconds, however. _It doesn't matter,_ she thought _, It'll be the next one that will get him._ Again, though she knew that it wasn't _her_ , wasn't _Jane_ , who had done these things, it didn't change the fact that _she_ had done them… well, no, actually it did, and Kurt seemed very much able to see the difference – more so than even she was herself. But even so, she dreaded having to tell him about the final thing she could think of that she had not yet confessed, because it was another one that was about _him_. About how she'd planned to take _advantage_ of him. She couldn't help but feel ashamed, even though it had been _before_.

Suddenly she heard herself talking to Oscar. _"I don't trust you. Whoever I was, I don't trust her either. I'm not your asset inside the FBI anymore. I am FBI."_

And then those other words, the ones that had since become her nightmare, when Oscar answered her. " _…If you refuse to cooperate, the people we work with will kill Agent Weller."_

He was watching her intently, trying to figure out how best to calm her down. She'd looked into his eyes hesitantly after talking about Carter and Oscar and the memory where she'd been in uniform, as if searching for something. No, she looked _afraid_ to see something… somehow, despite everything, she still thought that he would hold these memories against her.

 _No,_ he thought _, she doesn't actually_ _ **believe**_ _that you will, but that doesn't mean she's not_ _ **afraid**_ _that you will. It's two different things… because in her head, she still feels guilty somehow. Understandably so, though she shouldn't, because imagine having someone else's memories in your head… that's got to be confusing as hell!_

He just looked back at her with the same calm, open look, the same smile that told her than he was with her, that they were on the same team, that she didn't need to be afraid. At least, that was what he hoped the look on his face was saying. After staring anxiously at him for a full minute, she looked slightly less anxious, as if she'd gotten the message after all, once again. With every secret she revealed, she'd been looking at him as if he'd expected _that_ to be the one that sent him running in the opposite direction. She simply couldn't get it through her head that he wasn't going anywhere. And that was okay, because he would tell her again and again, no matter how many times it took.

Sighing heavily, she leaned very slowly towards him, until her head was laying slightly against his chest. For some reason, this struck him as even more concerning as when she'd laid heavily against him and fallen asleep from complete exhaustion. Bringing his hand up from her waist, he pushed his fingers gently from her neck, up the back of her head, threading his fingers through her hair and gently pulling her head to rest against him. Her pulse was racing, and she exhaled raggedly, as if something had just triggered an unpleasant thought that had been too much for her to breath through, despite her best effort.

"What's wrong?" he whispered, moving his fingers slowly in her hair, attempting to calm her down that way.

She lifted her head away from him, leaning back far enough to look in his eyes for a split second before looking away. "There's something else," she mumbled.

"You or her?" he asked, trying to figure out what kind of guilt she was feeling over this particular issue – because they were different, somehow.

"Her," she said quietly. "But—"

"Okay, then it's not as bad," he reassured her.

"No, it's just as bad." She shook her head sadly, tears gathering in her eyes again.

 _How could something that her former self had done be upsetting her just as much as if it had been she herself who had knowingly done it?_ he wondered. His hand had slipped from her hair when she'd sat back to look at him. It now rested at the base of her neck, squeezing the muscles gently.

"So just tell me," he said. "So I can tell you that it's okay."

 _It's not that simple,_ she wanted to scream. She somehow managed to remain calm, though she felt like she couldn't quite catch her breath. "It's not okay," she insisted, tears welling up in the corners of her eyes, just thinking about it.

For some reason, at that moment she heard Fisher's voice ringing loudly and ominously in her head. _"I'm going to bury you, Jane,"_ and she couldn't help but cringe. She didn't need anyone to bury her. At that moment she knew that she had buried herself.

"Jane," he said, leaning closer to her, "just tell me." He rested his forehead against hers, and she closed her eyes, unwittingly spilling the tears that had gathered there down her cheeks. "And don't you dare say _I_ about something that _she_ did," he added, knowing that she would have done just that.

She let out a choked sob, pulling away and slowly beginning to shake her head, feeling herself descend into panic. Before she knew what was happening, he had his hands on the sides of her face. The heels of his hands at her chin, his fingertips rubbing slowly on her temples… it would have been the most soothing feeling ever, if it wasn't making her feel even _guiltier_ for what she had to tell him.

"Sssshhhh," he said. "You're almost done… right?" She stopped shaking her head and nodded silently, her eyes still closed.

"It was at Taylor's memorial… I guess it was last year…" she whispered. She felt his hands stop moving, and stiffen against her face, and every muscle in her body tensed in response.

 _He's going to hate me_ , she thought.

He made a conscious effort to relax, knowing that no matter what she said, it wouldn't change anything for him. It was imperative that _she_ know that. It wasn't what he'd been expecting to hear, but then again, he didn't know _what_ he was expecting to hear. What he did know was that his reaction would have a very real effect on her. She needed him to be calm and unflinching more than she needed anything else right now.

"Oscar and I were there. We were… standing behind a tree, not too far away. We could hear what was being said. Emma Shaw was speaking to the group, about Taylor…"

 _Breathe_ , he reminded himself. He felt a searing pain in his heart as he thought about Taylor, the girl that he had spent so many years searching for, only to have found out in possibly the worst possibly way that she had been dead all along. He thought about Jane, who he'd convinced that she _was_ Taylor, only to have her find out, possibly also in the worst possible way, that she _wasn't_.

His heart broke all over again – for himself, for the five year old who hadn't deserved to die at the hands of his psychopathic father, and for the woman in front of him who was so determined to blame herself for all of it. Out of sheer willpower he kept his fingertips moving slightly against her temples, refusing to remove them now that she'd started talking, lest she think that he was upset with her. That couldn't be farther from the truth. If anything, he'd never wanted more than he did just then to hold onto her and never let her go.

"You told your dad that he shouldn't be there… He insisted that he hadn't done anything wrong…"

Her eyes were still closed, as if somehow by refusing to open them, she could keep reality at bay, even while recounting the memory that held so much power over her.

"I – _she –_ said to Oscar… 'It's been twenty-five years, but it's like it just happened.' She said it as though she was surprised, like she hadn't expected that. He just said, 'They never moved on.' I – _she –_ asked him if he was sure he was still okay… 'with this?'…" She struggled to exhale normally, but failed, sniffling quickly. "I don't remember what he said… but then I – _as Jane_ – asked him one day when we met… I asked him about that memory… Why we were surveilling you. He said that I – _she –_ wanted to make sure that you were still connected to… _her_. To Taylor."

He was already holding her face in his hands, but he needed her closer. He needed to do more to reassure her than he was already doing, so he pulled her face back towards his, leaning their foreheads together once more.

" _She_ asked Oscar if we were assessing your vulnerability. Oscar said that my – _her? –_ coming back had helped you."

Something inside her chest ached, and the more she said, the worse it felt. She felt as though she was ripping out her own heart, slowly and painfully – and probably his as well – but it was the only way.

Her voice dropped to barely a whisper. "Not too long ago, he said he needed me – _Jane_ – to tell you that I was having memories… remembering Clearfield, our supposed childhood there. He gave me pictures from back then, things that he wanted me to pretend to remember…"

"Which you did, because he told you that you had no choice, because that mysterious 'they' would kill me if you didn't," he reminded her gently.

She nodded ever so slightly, which he might not have noticed if not for the fact that both his hands and his forehead rested on her face, and he felt the gentle movement easily.

He wondered how to pull her closer than she already was, but it simply didn't seem possible. So instead, he drew back slightly, kissing her forehead where his own forehead has rested only a few seconds before, and then slowly let his hands fall from her face so that he could wind his arms around her tightly, pulling her as close to him as he could.

"Is that all?" he asked her, speaking into her ear. She nodded against him, completely drained, and absolutely expecting him to simply vanish into thin air at any second. And yet… he remained there, holding tighter to her every moment, if that was possible. Maybe she was just imagining it… but at that point, she would take even an imaginary version of him. With every secret that she could think of finally spilled, she was ready to collapse… preferably, into nothingness… except that for some reason, he was holding onto her tightly, unwilling to let that happen.

They simply remained there, Kurt holding onto her as tightly as he possibly could, and Jane expecting it all to disappear like Cinderella's finery at any second, for long enough that neither of them had any concept of time any longer. It didn't matter.

Some time later, which felt like only a few minutes, the lock clicked loudly at the door. Kurt looked up to see Patterson and Zapata standing awkwardly in the doorway. They entered slowly, as if they didn't want to be there. Zapata stepped forward, deciding to be the spokeswoman for the pair. "Weller, Billington wants to see you," she said reluctantly. The two women stood by the table, awkwardly, knowing that the last thing their boss wanted to do was to leave Jane – but that was why they were there. They were the moral support which, while they couldn't replace Weller in his absence, could at least ensure that Jane didn't sit there alone.

Kurt turned to Jane, pulling her even more tightly towards him for a second and then pressing a kiss on her cheek, whispering in her ear once again, "Everything's going to be okay, Jane. Trust me. I'm not going to let anything happen to you." She nodded numbly, but still feeling like, as he let go of her, it was for the last time. He pushed himself to stand up slowly, feeling old and tired and sore, and absolutely torn inside at having to leave her there. Jane had turned around and pressed her back into the corner where Kurt had been sitting, and Patterson and Zapata walked forward then, seating themselves against the wall on either side of her, each of them taking one of her hands and squeezing it in solidarity.

He had known that it would come to this. As the Assistant Director of the NYO, of course it fell to him to meet with Billington and who knew who else about Jane's case. Undoubtedly there would be suits from the FBI, maybe even the NSA, the CIA… who knew where else. He knew that it would be a battle, and that he would likely be her only ally. He also knew that he would not accept anything other than her freedom, and he would fight anyone who tried to argue otherwise for as long as it took. As he left the interrogation room and heard the lock click loudly behind him, he had to force himself to continue down the hall, and not to look back at the three women who sat huddled together in the corner, or better yet, to go right back into the room and walk straight back to Jane.

 _You're doing this_ _ **for**_ _Jane_ , he reminded himself.

Still, the fact that he wasn't there with her tore at his insides, no matter how he knew that the voice in his head was right. What he was doing was for her, and it was critical. Now that everything was over with, he had to deal with the legal aspects. He had to make people believe her, people who would surely want to rip to shreds everything she had said… it was daunting, at best – but for Jane, he would have fought battles a hundred times harder. A _thousand_. Whatever it took.

The lock clicked as the door closed behind him, and Jane sat, huddled into the corner, her knees in front of her, her head leaned against her knees and her eyes closed, with one hand in Patterson's and the other in Zapata's. The click of the lock seemed to echo in her ears, sounding so final, so ominous… as if her fate was already sealed.

JANE, PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

The sound of the door latching behind him seemed to echo long after he'd walked through it and disappeared down the hall. For some reason, she heard a very angry Kurt in her head… his final words before he had arrested her: " _It's over. Whatever this is, whatever it was about, it's finished."_ She knew with certainty that Kurt would be back, that he had only left because he had to, and because he now had to salvage what he could on her behalf.

His words now took on a new meaning, even though the tone of the words in her head made her cringe. At the time he'd said them, he'd been talking about what was happening between the two of them. Now, his words applied to whatever had been happening, what had been _done to_ the two of them. This time, they were on the same team. Whatever it had been that had been happening, whatever it had been about, it _was_ now finished. Or it would be, assuming Kurt could now convince the FBI to free her. That could be a tough sell, she knew.

The three women hadn't spoken a word. There was nothing to say. All of them knew that it was up to Kurt now, and that he would do absolutely everything in his power to secure her freedom. They all also knew that there was no guarantee that what Weller could do would be enough, and that the consequences for Jane might be worse than they could imagine. There was simply no way to know what came next. The _only_ thing they could do was sit there side by side and be sure that at that moment, no harm could come to her.

Jane retreated inside her mind. She loved Patterson and Zapata dearly, and she loved them even more for being there for her at that moment, however… she simply couldn't bring herself to utter even a word to them just then. Her head was full of words and images, floating through in front of her eyes. She tried closing her eyes, but they were only more vivid, the voices louder. Still, she rested her head against her knees, unable to stop the flood of emotion that washed over her along with the images…

She heard her own voice in her head, against the blackness inside her mind, and then she saw a familiar and yet long ago scene, of herself and Weller driving in his SUV. Back before… all of it. The secrets, the lies. Back when things had been easy between them, though not easy, of course.

" _What if I find out who I am, and I don't like it?'_ That had been such an understated fear of hers, and she'd had no way to know that it would become so painfully true… But that was _exactly_ what had happened.

Next, she remembered Zapata… so absolutely certain of the rules of good and evil. _"I think terrible people do terrible things. And the good people stop them."_

Lifting her head, she looked over at Zapata. "I'm sorry…" she whispered, "I'm… not one of the good people." It was enough to break the other woman's heart, and she knew instantly what conversation Jane was referring to. She'd regretted her statement ever since she's realized that Jane had probably meant something specific by it. While she knew why she'd said it, she had also come to realize that there were exceptions to every rule, and sometimes many of them.

That was when something flashed through Zapata's head. Something that _she_ had done, something that was probably unforgiveable… She didn't know if this was the best or worst time to mention it, however, she decided that as long as confessions were being made, that this was the time to do it.

"Jane, I need to tell you something," Zapata said quietly. Jane opened her eyes slowly, sitting up just enough to look at Zapata. Her eyes were tired and blank, and Zapata immediately wished with all of her might that she could take back what she'd done… Of course, what she was going to say would have consequences for her, just as Jane's did, and there would undoubtedly be serious conversations with Kurt about it… even if no one was monitoring the feed from the interrogation room at that moment, which was unlikely, she would march in and tell Kurt herself – as soon as he was in a position to listen to such a confession. At that moment, however, none of that mattered. The only thing that mattered was to do the right thing, and to tell Jane what she had done – to beg her forgiveness.

"I had a lot of gambling debts…" Zapata began, feeling Jane's eyes on her and unable to look up. "My bookie was threatening me. I was so far in the hole, and I couldn't see a way out… and then along came Carter…"

Suddenly all Jane could hear was Carter's voice in her head, and she closed her eyes in hopes that she could make it go away… _"You are hours away from being put on a plane and sent down a dark hole that only I will know about. How open you are in our brief time together can radically effect how nice that hole is going to be."_

The other two women didn't notice the look of distress on Jane's face. Patterson's eyes were frozen on Zapata, afraid of what her friend was going to say. _What had she done?_ Zapata couldn't meet either of their eyes, so ashamed of herself and her actions. Jane felt dizzy for a second, felt sick from the memory of Carter's words, and how very close she had come to simply disappearing into nothingness, to where no one could have helped her…

 _But you didn't_ , Jane reminded herself. _You're right here._ She concentrated on the fact that she was grasping her friends' hands, that they were very real and were there beside her, despite everything else that had happened. She forced herself to return to the present.

"It was back at the beginning," Zapata continued slowly, "back before… we really didn't know anything about you then… the file was almost empty…"

On another day, Jane might have been shocked at what she was hearing. That day, however, she simply had no capacity left to process emotions – at least, not _her own_ emotions. As Zapata's words slowly revealed what she had done so long ago, Jane managed to find herself sympathizing with her friend, despite the fact that she had literally betrayed her.

"I sold you out," Zapata finally admitted to her. "I gave your file to Carter, to the CIA. He paid me, and I used the money to pay off my bookie. And then Carter wanted me to put a listening device in your safe house. But I refused, more than once. He threatened to expose me, what I had already done, and I think he definitely would have if…" she trailed off, knowing that that was where her confession intersected with what Jane had already told them.

"If Oscar hadn't shot him," Jane finished quietly.

"I'm sorry I said what I said that day. I'm in no position to judge you, Jane. I never was… I was idealistic to a fault, I see that now," Zapata said quietly, finally looking up at her friend. "If anything, _you're_ the one who should be judging _me_."

Jane shook her head sadly, squeezing Zapata's hand as Kurt had squeezed hers so many times over the past few days. "I think," Jane began slowly, "good people _can_ do terrible things, for many different reasons. I think we only become terrible people if we decide that those mistakes are acceptable, that we live our lives believing that what we did was _right_. None of us is perfect, and some of us are _far_ less perfect that others… You're a good person, Tasha… A good person who made a mistake."

For a second, she was in the car with Kurt again, talking about Mayfair, and whatever it was that he hadn't been able to tell her about what their boss had done. _"…You're pretty stubborn,"_ she'd told him. _"You make gut decisions and I know they're usually right. But I just hope that you can try to see her side of things. Because whatever she did, she is more than just one mistake."_

 _More than just one mistake_ , she repeated in her head. _And so is Tasha._

 _And so are_ _ **you**_ _,_ her mind piped up.

It was a surprise, then, when Zapata immediately replied, "And so are you," though she was replying to a different, though similar, thought – the answer was the same. Zapata knew from the past few days' of experience how Jane would react to being told that she was a good person, but she also knew that more than anything, Jane needed to hear it. Instantly, Jane's walls were up again, and she was shaking her head without even thinking.

"You're really goddamn stubborn about admitting it, though," Zapata added, which made all three of them chuckle for a second. "You can't tell me," she continued, "that what you did was worse than what I did. No one forced me to do what I did. No one threatened my loved ones. I got myself into a bad situation because I was _stupid_ , because I didn't ask for help when I should have, and I got out of it by betraying a friend, and my agency…" Zapata looked away, feeling herself dangerously close to tears, which was something that she simply did _not_ allow – ever. She _did not_ cry. She did not permit it of herself.

"If you're going to tell me that _I'm_ a good person, after what I've done, then you can't tell me that you're _not_ … not after all the good that you've done since I've known you, whatever else may have happened," Zapata said emphatically. "And that's _final_." They both had tears in their eyes then, as did Patterson. There was nothing else to say on the subject. Jane just nodded and fell silent, considering Zapata's words, and the fact that she didn't even have the energy to care that her friend had essentially sold her out to the CIA. It had, after all, been so long ago…

In the silence, Kurt's words suddenly rang in her ears. _"Whoever you were then, that's not who you are now… Your first instinct is to help people, Jane… You don't hesitate, you act. And you do the right thing. So I don't know what it is you're remembering, or what the context is, but I do think you're a good person."_

She wanted so desperately to believe these words, both from Zapata and from Kurt… but once again, the fact that this was the thing she most wanted to believe made it the thing that she was most _afraid_ to believe. After all, if she let herself believe it again, and then found out that she was wrong… that it was all a lie, and that everything she had believed that she was was also a lie…

 _How is that different from what's already happened?_ she asked herself. It was the truth. She'd been through that already. What did she have left to _lose_?

 _That won't happen, and you know it,_ the voice in her head protested. _You yourself have admitted to Kurt in the past that he's usually right. You trust his judgement about absolutely everything else… so why not about_ _ **you**_?

She was just beginning to think that maybe there was something to all this, that maybe she should allow herself to relax slightly… and that was when she heard Mayfair's voice in her head, which sent shivers up and down her spine. _"They trust you, so I trust you,"_ Mayfair had told her. _If only Mayfair had known_ _ **not**_ _to trust me_ , she thought miserably…

 _No. You may have done all this to yourself,_ the voice in her head repeated calmly, quoting the other her from the video she'd recorded in the time 'before,' _but Mayfair… what happened to her was also because of_ _ **her**_ _, not you_. _It's okay to admit that she was kind to you, to admit that you feel responsible, at least in part, for her death. And you've already admitted just that out loud. But like the other you, Mayfair did this to herself. You are_ _ **not**_ _responsible for her choices. You're also not responsible for Oscar's choices, or the way that Mayfair died. Or the_ _ **fact**_ _that she died, for that matter. None of that is on you._

She closed her eyes once again, leaning back into the corner and trying to objectively consider what Zapata had said, and to integrate it into her thoughts, which had already been so confused. How could it all fit together…? After sitting and trying to make sense of things for what felt like an unreasonably long period of time, and still feeling like she was no closer to the truth. The only thing she felt closer to was a headache, so she finally gave herself permission to stop trying to make sense of any of it for the time being, and to just let her mind wander.

Almost immediately, she heard Kurt's voice in her head – it was certainly not the first time that _that_ had happened. _"What do you do if someone you trusted… lets you down?"_

She remembered this conversation, and now found that she related to it in an entirely different way. _"Well if it's forgivable, I think you forgive her,"_ she had 'd been talking about Mayfair at the time, but now… well, there were more choices now. More of them had let _each other_ down.

" _What if you can't?"_ he had asked. She felt a wave of gratitude that she didn't find herself in that situation, as she had feared that she would. As bad as what she had done had been, she somehow had been granted forgiveness, deserved or not… at least from Kurt. From the FBI… well, that remained to be seen.

" _I don't know. None of you have ever let me down."_ Strangely, she didn't feel betrayed by Zapata, though she knew that she should. Perhaps that would come later, when she had processed the rest of it.

The lock on the door clicked loudly again, and the three women looked up, startled. Kurt hadn't been gone nearly as long as Jane had expected…

But no, it wasn't Kurt. It was the two now-familiar agents who'd come to take Jane back to lock up. Jane shuddered upon seeing them, and the two other women both squeezed her hands harder in reply. "It's going to be okay, Jane," Patterson whispered. "Weller is going to fix it. You know he'd never let _anything_ happen to you."

Jane nodded, tears leaking out of the corners of her eyes as she had to release their hands to stand up.

"What's going on, guys?" Zapata asked suspiciously.

"It's just time for Ms. Doe to go back to her cell, ma'am," one of them answered politely.

"Can we go with her?" Patterson asked. She was ready to beg, if it would help.

"No, ma'am. Director Billington's orders," the other agent replied.

"I really hate that guy," Zapata mumbled out of the corner of mouth. Jane's expression now resembled a trapped animal, her face overtaken by panic. She turned around and put her hands behind her back, now without the benefit of being able to focus on Kurt while the handcuffs were placed on her, so she simply stared at the floor. Patterson and Zapata looked on helplessly, unable to do a thing for her.

Jane looked up at them just as she turned toward the door. For a second, despite how illogical it seemed, she wondered if she would ever see them again. Once again she had flashbacks to Carter's threats of the deep, dark hole she would be trapped in, and of Fisher telling her that he was going to bury her. _Help me,_ her eyes cried out to her friends, and Patterson was on the verge of tears. "Jane, Weller is going to fix this," Zapata reminded her fiercely as she was led toward the door by the agents. Jane looked over her shoulder at her friends, trying to nod, but couldn't manage it. Patterson put her hand over her mouth, trying to stop the flood of emotion that threatened to overtake her.

"She's going to be okay," Zapata whispered as the door closed behind the three of them. She wasn't sure who she was trying to convince, Patterson or herself… or maybe both of them. As they quickly disappeared around the corner, the two women exited the room as well, to try to find out what was going on, and to camp out near wherever the all-important meeting was happening until they _found out_ what was going on.

JANE

Jane saw her tiny cell getting closer and closer, and the knot in her stomach once again grew tighter and tighter. She tried to breathe normally, but it was a struggle… one that she was losing. Once she was inside, the tiny cell felt even smaller than she remembered it. Her handcuffs removed and the other two agents having retreated back down the hall, she perched at the edge of the tiny cot, gripped the side so tightly that her knuckles were turning white within minutes. She'd been there two minutes, and already she felt the walls – bars, rather – closing in on her. Her pulse was racing faster and faster, and she couldn't help but think that she hadn't felt this panicked since the very beginning… when she'd first tried to come to terms with being covered in tattoos.

Despite her best efforts, the memories were still flooding her mind, and they weren't the ones she _wanted_ to remember. Against her will, she saw herself standing by the elevator sadly, after being told by Director Billington that she was off the team. _"We've got no choice right now, Jane,"_ she heard Kurt say. It was like a knife to her heart, even after all this time.

" _So, that's it? I'm out? Just like that?"_ she heard herself asking.

" _Of course not. You know how important you are to me. To this team. You need to give me some time to fix it."_ She saw herself get into the elevator sadly, remembering how much it had hurt. _"This is temporary,"_ he had told her.

 _That's right,_ she told herself. _Because after that, it had gotten_ _ **worse**_.

" _I hope so,"_ she had replied.

Her mind, far from giving her a break, seemed determined to torture her that night – since it _was_ now past 6:00 pm, and it was now solidly evening. The next thing she remembered, she was telling Kurt, "I just turned in my access badge. Signed about 1,000 documents promising I wouldn't share anything I'd seen or heard here. I'm sorry if any of this is my fault. I know how much this case meant to you." She remembered how horrible she'd felt that day in the locker room, how responsible she'd felt for the fact that everything had fallen apart. Even though she knew what was coming, she still felt anguish of that day.

" _Jane… you were never just a case to me… Speaking of which…_ " She remembered the sudden change in the air as he stepped closer to her, and how, for just a second, she had wondered what was happening. _"Now that we're not working together, that sorta means I can do this…"_

The memory of that kiss, only their second one, made her eyes fall closed and her heart feel as though it was being squeezed so tightly, she couldn't help but wonder if there would be some physical damage left by whatever was happening inside her. She felt dizzy from the heat of that moment, now long passed, but also slightly nauseous at the thought of what would happen if Kurt _couldn't_ work whatever magic he thought he could do, and get her released from custody. What if she had to spend the rest of her life in that hole that Carter had talked about? The thought made her shiver. Her eyes were squeezed shut, her knuckles so tightly clenched onto the side of the bunk that her fingers ached, her back hunched forward and her breathing labored… she wasn't sure how long she could go on like this… but there was no other choice.

It felt like hours later, but it was probably only a matter of minutes, when both her strength and her willpower gave out, and she pulled herself up onto the bunk, curling up into a ball on her side as tightly as she could. She wanted to plead with whatever power in the universe might be able to help her get out of the mess she was in, but realistically, she knew that she didn't deserve any help.

Time ticked by painfully slowly – not that she had any concept of time in her cell. At some point, she fell asleep, which she only knew because she woke up to find that she was completely disoriented. For a second she thought that she was hungry, but then realized that the sensation was more of wanting to throw up… she'd been eating so little, and stressing so much, she had actually stopped being able to tell the difference between the two. And so she erred on the side of assuming that anything she ate would rapidly come back up again. Hoping to avoid throwing up if she only stayed still and let sleep claim her again, she closed her eyes tightly and begged to lose consciousness. It was the only way to escape from the reality that seemed worse than even the most frightening nightmare.

KURT

He'd walked into the meeting – held in the conference room near his office – before 6:00pm with Director Billington, various lawyers and a few miscellaneous suits whose names he had already forgotten. Despite his best efforts, it had taken more than _twelve hours_ before the men he was meeting with were satisfied with the footage they'd seen, the answers he'd given, and the timeline that had been pieced together. They'd wanted to break for the night and reconvene in the morning, but Kurt had been adamant that they were not going to stop until they were _finished_. These men would go home to their families, to their own beds. As long as it took them to settle this, Jane would sit in a cell, miserable.

KURT, PATTERSON AND ZAPATA

And so he emerged from the conference room, just after 6:00am. He walked by the door of his office and was surprised to see Patterson and Zapata, both dozing in the chairs by his desk. They were undoubtedly waiting to hear what had happened… but he was confused, because he'd thought that they were with Jane…

 _It_ _ **is**_ _6:00 am,_ he reminded himself, too tired to figure out what was going on. He stopped in the doorway, knocking loudly on the door of his own office. The two women started, sitting up as quickly as they could in their exhausted, confused condition.

"Weller," Patterson said, the first to recover, "what's happening?"

"Billington was stubborn as fuck," Kurt replied, tiredly rubbing his hand across his face. The women looked at him worriedly. "Come on," he said simply, cryptically, and walked away. They followed quickly after him, exchanging worried looks as they saw him head toward lock up. At the end of the hallway, where IDs were checked and the heavy barred gate buzzed open, the uniformed agent shook his head.

"Director Billington said no one goes in right now," the agent told him.

" _What_?" Kurt demanded, incredulous. The agent shrugged.

"He went in about two minutes ago, and he said no one goes in until he comes out," the man said apologetically. He knew he was talking to the Assistant Director, and that Weller was _not_ going to appreciate being denied access.

Zapata elbowed Patterson quickly. "Let's get to the security room and see what's going on," she told the blonde. Patterson nodded in agreement. "Weller, we're on it. Stay here, just in case," Zapata told him, seeing that Weller was clearly at a loss for what to do.

"Thanks," he said simply, glancing at the women as they took off back down the hall.

KURT

Kurt was not going to move from that spot until he knew what was happening. Billington had _just_ agreed to release Jane, after a twelve hour negotiation in which he'd done everything in his power _not_ to give in to Weller's demands. What the _fuck_ was this about? Kurt was absolutely too tired to process whatever this was, and he was certainly not going to accept anything less than what he'd been promised – Jane's freedom. Every second that Billington fucked around was a second that Jane was denied her freedom. And now _he_ was denied access to her? _FUCK NO_.

He stood and glared at the agent who'd told him that he couldn't go past security, despite the fact that it wasn't the young's agent's fault, and Kurt knew that all too well. If anything, this was a testament to the man's ability to do his job in the face of unpleasant circumstances – having the head of the NYO glaring at him, staring him down, was quite possibly one of the more hostile work conditions that this agent had faced, at least recently.

His phone dinged with a text from Zapata. _We don't have audio, but Billington is standing by Jane's cell. Looks like he's talking to her. She's curled up on the bed, not responding._

 _FUCK!_ was all Kurt could think. _Why can't I fucking go down there?_

His phone dinged again. _He sent the two guys who walk her to and from her cell in to get her up_. He ground his teeth angrily. Though he knew that those agents were professionals, and that they would not intentionally harm her, he couldn't help but feel that no one should be touching her but him.

Grasping his phone in his hand, he waited impatiently for an update. After what seemed like an eternity, his screen lit up.

 _Looks like they're coming your way_ , Zapata had typed. The wait was agonizing. The walk from Jane's cell, even if she was shuffling slowly and being less than cooperative, should take less than four minutes.

And so he waited, attempting to continue breathing. _Come on, Jane_ , he thought.


	20. Promise

**Disclaimer: I do not own Jane or Kurt or Blindspot. Writing about them is simply the outlet for my obsession.**

 _A/N: This is the last chapter, and just in time, since we're so close to season two beginning! I can't believe this story has lasted all summer… and I'm excited for these two to finally get a happy ending (which is not a spoiler, since I've said it all along) – just in time for Martin Gero to rip our hearts out with what "really" happened to Jane… Enjoy!_

JANE AND KURT

Kurt waited, attempting to breathe evenly. _Come on, Jane_ , he thought.After what felt like longer than an eternity, but upon consultation with the clock on his phone he saw had been less than the expected four minutes, he heard footsteps echoing down the hall. Craning his neck as if he would be able to somehow see around the corner, he nearly jumped out of his skin in anticipation. _Finally_ , they appeared – Billington, followed by Jane, who looked like she was being mostly held up by the two agents who were one step behind her, each holding one of her arms.

Billington waited with his hand on the heavily barred door, then pushed forward when the buzzer sounded, signaling that the door was unlocked, the other three following closely behind him. He may as well have been moving in slow motion, and Kurt couldn't help but feel like every second was an eternity.

They came to a stop in front of Kurt, and Billington looked at him menacingly. Kurt hadn't had any respect for the man before, after on his forced promotion, and he had even less now. Without turning around to look at her, Billington informed anyone who cared to listen, "Jane Doe is no longer welcome at the FBI…"

 _She's 'no longer welcome?'_ he thought, feeling his blood boiling beneath his skin. _As if she'd come for a visit and we'd_ _ **allowed**_ _her to stay?_ Kurt was seething, and it was all he could do to stop from punching the man in front of him – never mind that that man was his boss. He'd actually calculated the costs of doing just that, and decided that he needed to avoid it if at all possible, despite how extremely satisfying it would have been.

Billington was still talking, however. "These agents will escort her from the premises. She is free to go."

 _Just like that? So he would send her away from here with_ _ **nothing**_ _, feeling no responsibility whatsoever for her or the fact that she has_ _ **nowhere to go**_ _if I wasn't standing here to prevent that from happening?_ Kurt wasn't entirely sure that he wouldn't punch the man after all.

"That won't be necessary," Kurt told him, his tone icy. "I'll make sure that she leaves the premises, and as a matter of fact, I'm going with her. We _did_ just work all night, after all…" The scathing look he gave Billington dared the other man to challenge his plan. For once, Kurt's new boss seemed to find his request reasonable.

"Fine," he nodded curtly. The two of them had been in the same meeting all night, after all, and Billington was probably going to go home himself as soon as they were finished there. "Be back at your desk tomorrow morning." Kurt just glared at him, then walked past him quickly to reach Jane, who looked like she was going to fall over at any moment. The agents who'd been holding her up stepped back and nodded at him respectfully. He bore them no ill will, knowing that they'd been simply following orders and that Zapata and Patterson would have let him know if they'd treated her inappropriately.

He stood in front of her, putting a gentle index finger under her chin in an attempt to get her to look up at him. "Jane," he whispered, and found that her head tilted up, but her eyes didn't seem to see him. It was almost as though she was in some sort of trance, and it was heartbreaking. Had she finally reached a breaking point? Surely he could still save her from this mess… this mess that _he_ himself had gotten her _into_ in the first place…

 _Don't do that now_ , he told himself. _Now, just get her out of here._

He put a protective arm around her shoulders and guided her forward just as Patterson, Reade and Zapata came around the corner, stopping short when they saw them. Patterson's hand flew to her mouth to try to trap a yelp of worry, Zapata bit her lip, and Reade looked on in dismay. Kurt just nodded at the three of them as he walked past, mumbling, "I'll see you tomorrow." They just stared, speechless, unable to move as they watched Kurt steer her down the hall and around the corner.

"I hope she'll be okay," Patterson whispered.

"She's with Weller," Zapata replied, still staring after them. "She couldn't be better taken care of. And if he needs anything, he'll let us know." The others nodded, knowing that Zapata was right. There was no one in the world who cared more about Jane than Weller did.

He didn't stop until they reached the elevator, where he pushed the button and hoped that it would come quickly, for once. The only thing he could think of was that he had to get her out of the building – not because there was a threat to her there, but for her sanity's sake. At that moment she needed to _not_ be in the place where she'd been imprisoned. She needed to be anywhere else, and just then, anywhere else was his apartment. After all, she no longer had a place of her own, and there was no way he was letting her go anywhere except with him. There was nowhere else _for_ her to go.

Though he felt that he simply could not get her out of the building fast enough, somehow he eventually managed to get her to his car, which was parked at the far side of the garage. He unlocked the door and helped her inside, buckling the seatbelt over her while she simply stared ahead. He _hoped_ that she was simply lost in thought, and not something more serious than that. Her silence and her lack of focus was extremely unlike her, and it was frightening him. "Jane?" he asked her, biting his lip and taking her hand, squeezing it gently.

She leaned her head back against the seat and closed her eyes, looking even more fragile than before. However, she did one thing that gave him hope – she squeezed his hand slightly, letting him know that she could hear him. As much as he hated that he had to let go of her hand to close the door and get himself into the other side of the car, he felt relief that she was at least still with him.

At his apartment, he was thankful that Sarah and Sawyer were out – probably owing to the fact that it was now mid-morning. Jane walked through the door that he opened for her, moving forward about halfway into the space and then simply stopping, as if she'd run out of momentum, staring at nothing. He closed the door behind them, dropping his keys on the counter and walking up in front of her, putting his hands lightly on her upper arms.

"Are you hungry?" he asked, though he knew the answer. She'd eaten shockingly little since she'd been arrested, and he wondered how he was only now noticing how thin she'd gotten in that relatively short stretch of time. She just shook her head, staring over his shoulder toward the window. He made a mental note that he would work on forcing her to eat… later.

Normally, Kurt probably would've been starving himself, but all things considered, his stomach was in knots and food was the last thing on his mind. He wound his arm around her shoulder once more, steering her toward the door of his bedroom. What she needed was sleep. She was going to be okay… she _had to be_. He opened the door to his room and she walked forward to the bed, where she perched on the edge. She sat for a second, looking as though she wanted to say something but not quite finding the words.

He followed her in slowly and sat down beside her, slightly worried that quick movements would somehow spook her. Her left hand rested on her knee beside him, and he put his hand on top of hers.

While he had been hoping for her to say something – _anything_ , really – he wasn't prepared for what she said then. "What do I…" she began, but found that she couldn't even finish her thought. She tried again, "I just… I have… nothing," she whispered brokenly, and he felt his heart shattering.

"It's going to be okay, Jane," he said soothingly. "You're out of there, you're free…" He wanted to apologize to her for all of it, but he was afraid that if he did, _he_ would break down, and he couldn't afford to do that just then. At that moment, he needed to be the strong one – for her.

"But… free to do _what_? To go _where_?" she asked him, staring at the floor. She hated to sound so empty, but she couldn't help it. It was how she felt. Realistically, she had had nothing to start with, not even clothes on her back. The FBI had given her literally everything she had had, and with the exception of the clothes she was currently wearing, it had all been taken back from her once again.

No, she corrected herself, there was one thing the FBI had not given her. There was one thing that _Kurt_ had given her. The necklace that he'd given her when they'd thought that she was Taylor, that had been the once Emma Shaw had bought for her daughter when the girl was born.

 _Nice necklace by the way_ , she heard him say in her head.

 _Oh, thanks. Someone special gave it to me._ And then they'd smiled at each other, that special smile that had always been theirs and theirs alone, before Kurt had walked away.

But she was not that girl, and so, that was not her necklace… wherever it was now. She had no right to wonder what had happened to it, she supposed. But how could something so simple and so unimportant, in the grand scheme of things, hurt so much? At some point, didn't everything have to _stop_ hurting so much? Wasn't there a limit to the pain that she could endure before she became numb to it all? Apparently things didn't work that way for her, because just when she thought she'd reached that point, it always just seemed to get worse.

He picked up her hand, placing it between both of his own. She'd spoken, which was a good sign, he told himself, no matter how miserable she'd sounded. It was better than nothing. Now, however, she seemed to be lost inside her own head.

"It's going to be okay, Jane," he repeated soothingly. "You know that I would do anything to keep you safe, right?" She seemed to hear him then, because she tilted her head to look at him. However, there were questions in her eyes, as if she wasn't quite sure what to believe.

 _I deserve that_ , he told himself. _Of course she can't quite believe me, when I'm the one who got her into this mess…_ Again, however, he told himself that this was not the time for these thoughts.

"I'm going to see what Sarah has that you can use, just for now, okay?" he asked her. "Until we can get you something else of your own. I'll be back in just a minute." She heard the words he said, even noticed the fact that he said ' _we_.' _**Until we can get you something of your own**_ **.** She wanted to believe that it would be fine, that she could depend on him absolutely… at some level, she knew that she could. Things had been so broken between them, but that had been the secrets, and those secrets were no longer there.

Still, trust was hard. After all, she'd come a long way, and she was no longer the same Jane who didn't know the feeling of being let down. Now, she knew betrayal – both to betray herself and others, and what it felt like to know that she had betrayed them in return… or first, even. Trust? Could she still do that? She _wanted_ to… but was that enough? More importantly, could she trust _herself_? Her own judgement? Again, she _wanted_ to…

Objectively, she knew that it wasn't as simple as the idea that bad judgement had gotten her into the mess that she'd ended up in. No, there were good reasons why she'd done what she'd done… _Could_ she have done things differently? Yes. _Should_ she have done them differently… well, yes. But the fact that she was here, sitting beside Kurt, listening to him beg her to hang on… she couldn't possibly have done _everything_ wrong… at least, not so wrong that it couldn't be fixed. Or… could she?

Yes, trust was scary, especially because this time, she had no safety net.

 _No_ , the voice in her head corrected her, _he_ _ **is**_ _your safety net. Just let him be that for you_.

She nodded ever so slightly, the only sign that she'd heard him, and he removed his hand from hers and stood up reluctantly. The last thing he wanted was to leave her, and yet, she needed things, like something else to wear – pajamas, preferably – a toothbrush… the absolute basics. He promised himself that he wouldn't leave her alone for more than a few minutes. Besides, it wasn't as though he was leaving the apartment. He'd be in the next room, for goodness sake. Still, as soon as she was a step away, he couldn't help but feel like it was too far.

When he returned to the room a few minutes later, he had borrowed several sets of clothes and some pajamas from Sarah, who he guessed was about Jane's size, and found an extra toothbrush in the bathroom. He found her now sitting in the center of the bed, her knees folded up in front of her and her arms wrapped around them protectively, just as she had sat so many times against the wall of the interrogation room at the FBI. Her head was down against her knees, as if she was trying to shut out everything and everyone around her. The clothes and toothbrush momentarily forgotten, he set them down on a chair and walked quickly to the bed, where he crawled forward across the blankets until he was beside her, sitting close, his legs crossed in front of him as he leaned towards her.

His first instinct was to put his arms around her, but he hesitated. She was so fragile just then, and so unpredictable. Even though he was usually right about what she needed, he was afraid that in her heightened emotional state, he would suddenly be wrong, that he would do something wrong and make it worse.

"Jane," he whispered, putting his right hand gently on her back. It was as if they were back to square one. All the progress that he'd made in getting through to her, in comforting her, in that interrogation room over and over seemed to have evaporated. Or had it? He felt her exhale slowly at his touch, and he took that as a good sign, beginning to rub slow circles in the middle of her back, as he had done before. She took several slow, deep breaths, and then she tilted her head to the side, leaning her left cheek against her knee so that her face was turned in his direction. Slowly, she opened her eyes, but didn't look at him. She simply stared ahead.

"Hey," he said quietly, leaning forward towards her so that he could put both arms around her. "Just keep breathing."

He'd said something like that to her, she remembered, a very long time ago. Back at the beginning, when she'd been having a panic attack of sorts, when it had all been too much. _Kind of like now_ , she thought, wondering how she could possibly get through this.

 _Feel that. I'm here. I'm here with you. You're okay. Just keep breathing._ He remembered telling her that a long time ago. It had seemed to work then, and he hoped that it would work now, as he simply tried to pull her even closer than he already had.

She nodded slightly, exhaustion beginning to seep into every part of her. With the tension and stress slowly leaving, she found that there was very little, if anything, left to keep her going. The only good night's sleep she'd had since she'd been arrested had been with Kurt by her side… so maybe, with him there, she could actually sleep. Her eyelids were already growing heavy.

"Hey," he said quietly, watching her carefully and seeing the signs of exhaustion as she slowly began to relax. "You should get some sleep." She just nodded, suddenly ready to surrender. He loosened his arms around her enough to lean back and look at her carefully. "Do you want me to…?" Glancing at the door, he looked back at her. Her expression changed immediately, and she almost looked panicked.

"No," she whispered, shaking her head only very slightly, suddenly terrified that he would leave. Objectively, she knew that he wouldn't, not if she didn't expressly ask him to… and yet, she couldn't prevent the helpless feeling that washed over her at the mere thought of not having him there.

"Shhhh, okay, don't worry," he said, pulling his arms tighter around her once again for a few seconds, before loosening his right arm to reach up and tug at the top edge of the covers, which were partially anchored in place because they were sitting on them. "I brought you some of Sarah's clothes, if you want to change, and a toothbrush…" he murmured.

She tried to smile at his thoughtfulness, but had to content herself with simply the warmth of affection for him that she felt inside, because just then she didn't even have the energy to smile. Realizing that she needed to respond to his offer of clothes and a toothbrush, she simply shook her head, managing to whisper, "Later." From the corner of her eye she saw him nod at her sadly, and she wondered if she really looked _that_ bad, that she warranted the worry that she saw reflected in his eyes.

 _I don't deserve him_ , she thought. _I don't deserve someone who cares this much about me_.

He managed to wiggle the blankets out from under them, pushing them to the end of the bed. He'd already taken off his own shoes, and as she laid down against what was possibly the softest pillow she'd ever felt – or maybe it was simply the fact that her FBI cell's lack of comfort had made her forget everything else – he untied and gently removed her shoes as well, tossing them toward the wall past the edge of the bed. Again, she felt the warmth of affection for him at the small gesture, and she knew that she must be losing her mind. All he'd done was take off her shoes for her, because she was simply too exhausted to do it herself, and she felt as though he'd given her the moon.

Now that she was laying down, on her side, facing the wall, he pulled the blanket up over her and pushed himself reluctantly toward the edge of the bed so that he could stand up and grab his own pajamas. The clothes she'd been in had been more casual than what he'd worn to work, and he changed quickly into pajama pants and a soft t-shirt, watching her shoulders rise and fall from behind her, wondering if she was already asleep. He had brushed his teeth quickly when he was in the bathroom looking for a toothbrush for Jane, so changing his clothes had been the one remaining step to accomplish, which was now completed. Now, imagining that he was almost as exhausted as Jane, he lifted the blankets carefully and crawled back over to where he'd been beside her, slowly, not wanting to either disturb or startle her.

For some reason, at that moment he remembered holding her hand in the limo on the way to the helicopter that had taken them to Rich Dotcom's party, remembered feeling at that moment, like at so many others, that though they were in extreme danger, they were in it together – really, they always _had been_ in it together, even when they hadn't known it, or hadn't believed it. And yet, here they were… still in it together, depending on each other.

He settled himself against the pillow beside hers, slipping his right arm under it and his left arm carefully around her waist, pulling her close. Leaning his forehead against the back of her head, her hair tickling his face, he thought about how close he had come to not being there – how many things could have gone wrong along the way. How many things _had_ gone wrong along the way. And yet, there they were. Together.

For some reason, at that moment he remembered something Allie had said to him, what seemed like a long time ago now. It might have seemed inappropriate to be thinking about Allie just then, except that it had been all about Jane. _There's something between you and Jane. I don't know what it is. I don't know if you know what it is, but don't make me feel crazy by pretending it's not there._ She had been right, of course. He didn't know why it had seemed so complicated, why for so long he hadn't wanted to admit it to himself… but it had always been there.

She was already drifting towards sleep when she felt him behind her, his arm around her waist and his head leaned against hers. She'd known that he was there before that, of course, because she knew objectively that she was in his bedroom, and that he wouldn't leave her there after she'd said that that wasn't what she wanted. Still, once he made contact with her again, that was when she could finally relax and surrender to unconsciousness.

The difference had been subtle, since she'd already been so close to being asleep when he'd crawled in beside her, but he'd felt her relax against him almost immediately, and less than a minute later, her breathing evened out quickly as well, telling him that she had probably fallen asleep. She hadn't slept well the previous night, that much had been clear, so that made two of them who were completely exhausted in every way.

Just before he surrendered to sleep, he heard another familiar voice in his head, once again talking about Jane. _Tell me again why you're not with Jane,_ he heard Rich Dotcom say, _because every time something goes wrong – or goes right for that matter – you look at Jane first._ The man had been far smarter than they'd given him credit for – which probably had something to do with the fact that he'd managed to escape.

The next thing Kurt was conscious of was being ripped from sleep suddenly, his room bright, feeling extremely disoriented. _Why is it so bright?_ he'd wondered, taking a few seconds to remember that he was sleeping during the day after being up all night. This led his thoughts back to Jane, who was no longer laying in front of him…

He turned his head to see her, sitting up in bed, her arms once again wrapped around herself, her shoulders shaking as he watched her for a second from behind her, where he still lay on his pillow. "Jane?" he asked groggily, sitting up beside her, shaking off the exhaustion at least enough to find out what had gone wrong. If he had to guess, he'd say that she'd had a nightmare. He put his hand on her back and felt her jump slightly, which told him just how tense she must be. He slowly brought both his hands to her shoulders, moving over slightly so that he was sitting behind her, squeezing her shoulders gently to try to massage the tension away. "Hey," he said quietly, "It's okay."

Her shoulders relaxed slowly, but her head was still down against her knees, so he scooted himself around her so that he was sitting almost directly in front of her, only slightly off center. "Do you want to talk about it?" he asked. She shook her head, which was still down, then took a deep breath and lifted her head, looking at him sadly.

"It was… everything. At the FBI. All over again…" Despite the fact that she'd just said she didn't want to talk about it, that was exactly what she was doing, and he certainly wasn't going to stop her.

"That two day long confession?" he asked, trying to understand exactly what she was talking about. She nodded, then continued.

"Yeah, except, you…" Tears formed in her eyes again, and he reached his hands to her shoulders, kneading the muscles once again, this time from the front.

"It's okay," he repeated. She nodded, closing her eyes, which released some of the tears that had gathered there. After a shaky breath she opened them again, looking down and then finally, back at him.

"You didn't forgive me," she whispered, "for… any of it. You were so angry, and the more I told you, the angrier you got. The truth just made it worse…" She was having trouble catching her breath now, and he moved his hands from her shoulders to the sides of her face, so he could use his thumbs to wipe away the tears that were falling down her cheeks.

"And that's how you know it was a nightmare," he told her evenly, keeping his voice steady despite how his heart hurt for her, "because I'm right here." She nodded, but the look on her face told him that she was still in a lot of pain. Without a second thought he slowly let his hands drop from her face, scooted around to the side of her, sitting with his legs crossed in front of him, and, slipping one arm under her knees and the other behind her back, he lifted her so that she was sitting on his lap. This allowed him to wrap his arms around her tightly, and she laid her head down on his shoulder.

It took a while, but eventually she relaxed again, and he wondered if maybe she'd fallen asleep that way. When he felt her shift, however, he knew that she was still awake, simply calm again.

She lifted her head slowly off of his shoulder and looked up at him shyly. "Sorry I woke you up," she told him.

He shook his head, and replied, "I'm sorry the 'me' in your dream wasn't smart enough to understand what he was giving up."

Smiling reluctantly, just a little, she punched his arm gently. "That's silly," she told him.

He just shrugged, smiling right back at her. "But it made you smile." She laid her head back down on his shoulder with a sigh, and he turned his head just far enough towards her that he could kiss her forehead. "Okay, do you want to go back to sleep, or should we have something to eat?"

"Sleep," she mumbled, already appearing to be fading again.

"Okay, but we're going to talk about this whole not eating thing later…" he warned her. She just nodded sleepily. After the past few days, she could happily agree to talk about just about anything he wanted to talk about. After all, none of would be as painful as what she'd just endured.

He lowered her gently off of his lap again, slowly laying back down and tugging her toward the pillow as well. It didn't take much to convince her to follow, settling herself comfortably once again, Kurt snuggling behind her just like before.

"Jane," he whispered, and she turned to look at him curiously over her shoulder, her eyelids heavy. He propped his face up against his hand, anchored by his elbow in his pillow. He knew that he'd wanted to say something, but when she looked at him, he couldn't quite remember what it was… Her sleepy smile didn't seem to require him to say anything else, however, and after a long few seconds of looking at each other, she smiled, feeling the warmth of his gaze, and turned back around to lay her head on the pillow. She still didn't feel quite right, still empty and sad and a million other things… but the one thing she _didn't_ feel was alone, and that counted for a lot.

Hours later, she awoke and peeked her eyes open just a little once again to find that the light from the windows was now considerably dimmer than it had been the last time they'd been awake. _It must be getting later in the day_ , she reasoned. It only took a few seconds before the events of the past twenty four hours started flooding back to her, and for a split second she wondered if she could be remembering it all correctly. Was she really…?

She shifted slightly, just so that she could reassure herself of her surroundings. Pillow under her head… soft, comfortable mattress… cotton pajamas… and Kurt's arm around her, his body behind her, reassuring and strong. Opening her eyes all the way, slowly, as they adjusted to the light, she glanced over her shoulder and couldn't help but smile. He was awake, and watching her with a smile that said a thousand different things, all of them good.

"No bad dreams this time?" he asked quietly. She turned onto her back slightly, so that she was leaning against his shoulder, shaking her head and looking up at him.

"Nope," she replied. "Thanks." Again, they just looked at each other for a long few seconds without speaking, almost without moving.

Finally, almost hating to break the calm silence between them, he asked, "Are you hungry?" It was nearly dinner time by then, and he was going to insist that she eat _something_ , like it or not. She just shook her head, knowing what he was going to say. He pushed himself up to sit, feeling slightly groggy from the exhaustion of the previous night along with effects of a long daytime nap, which always seemed to throw him off. She watched him, her head now lying flat against the pillow behind her,

"We'll start with toast, then, okay?" he asked, and she nodded, smiling up at him. She didn't _want_ toast, of course, but she knew that he wouldn't take no for an answer. Before she could make herself produce actual words, he'd stood up and walked to the door, promising to be right back. For a second she watched the door, through which he'd just disappeared, and then she closed her eyes again, stretching and trying to think of different things, different people, testing herself for her reactions to them. She still felt beyond drained – empty – even though Kurt's presence beside her while she slept seemed to have taken the sharp edge off of her feelings.

She told herself that it was all too fresh, too raw, that she shouldn't let her mind spin. By now even with her lack of memories, _she_ knew herself well enough to know that it wasn't a good idea. However, she couldn't help it. She heard herself telling Kurt so long ago, "You… you're my starting point." She still believed that about him, despite everything that had happened between and around them… The thing that she wondered was… what was she to him, now that she wasn't Taylor?

This question spurred her thoughts onward. Feeling guilty for even thinking about it, after everything else that had happened that was so much more important, but again she wondered about the necklace. The one he'd given her for her- no, _Taylor's_ – birthday. At that point she still had no clue when her own birthday was, which she knew shouldn't have been as big a deal to her as it suddenly seemed…

No, she'd been right when she'd told herself not to let her mind spin. And then, because she simply couldn't stop herself, she closed her eyes again and saw herself, opening the box that had contained the necklace that Kurt had given her that morning – the birthday present he'd given her on what it turned out had _not_ been her birthday after all. She had opened it just as he walked into the locker room. _"Hey, thank you. It's so beautiful,"_ she'd said.

" _It's my pleasure. It belonged to your mom. She bought it when you were born, to match your eyes.  
_

" _How did you…?"_

" _After she passed away, some of her things were sold. I know how much that necklace meant to her, so I… now it's yours."_

Except, of course, that it hadn't been her mom's, and it hadn't been meant for her, and she had never been Taylor, the girl they'd both wanted her to be… She felt panic returning, both her pulse and her breathing coming faster all of a sudden, and it frightened her how little control over her emotions she had. _Not that that's any different than any other day in recent memory_ , she reminded herself, which didn't help her state of mind… _Besides, it isn't news that you aren't Taylor_ , she reminded herself _, you knew that a while ago, so why…._

She curled onto her side, facing the middle of the bed and the place where Kurt had been only a few minutes before. She felt the panic of that morning when they'd first arrived returning, when it had felt as though everything was crashing down around her, that it was too much, and she felt herself shutting down once again. Sleep had helped, but only so much.

 _You're not a miracle worker,_ the rational voice in her head reminded her. _It's going to take time…_ But it was hard to slow down, hard – no, _impossible –_ to stop her spiraling thoughts once they started. And just like that, she was lost inside her head again.

Kurt re-entered the room a few minutes later with a tray of various kinds of toast and two glasses of orange juice, which he immediately set down on his dresser and walked swiftly back to the bed when he saw her huddled inside the mass of blankets at the center. Approaching from the opposite side this time, so that he crawled across the bed behind her once more, he sat and assessed her condition as best he could with the blankets wrapped tightly around her. It wasn't hard to see that something had spooked her again. Despite his deep concern, he reacted calmly, trying not to overthink his reaction. If there was one thing he had learned, it was that his instincts when it came to Jane were generally right.

Therefore, he didn't give it a second thought, but gently loosened the blankets that she'd pulled up around her face, giving him better access to her. He knew that it wasn't him that she was protecting herself from, and he knew that this was far from the last of this kind of traumatic reaction that she'd be suffering from going forward. At that thought, he made a mental note to text Dr. Borden to see if he could meet with her there, possibly the next day.

Having freed her from the blankets that she'd held so tightly, he ran his left hand over her hair, smoothing it all the way back and then starting again at her forehead. "Jane," he said softly. He found himself simply saying her name quite often, when he thought about it. It was really all that was necessary, just the chance for her to hear his voice, to remind her that he was there with her. His right hand wound around her hands, which were clenched together under her chin, holding onto them and feeling her determined grip loosen ever so slowly.

Something had clearly set her off again, and he somehow knew that if he could just get her to tell him, he could somehow fix it. After all, look at what they'd already overcome. "What's wrong?" he asked her.

 _Where had the thought started?_ she wondered. It took a minute for her to remember. With her eyes still closed, she reminded herself that she had told him _much_ harder things already, that she could do this. "I was thinking about… not being Taylor." The words came out slowly, quietly. He kept smoothing out her hair, and holding onto her hands, which he'd managed to free from the space below her chin. She'd loosened her grip and now held his right hand between both of hers, the ball of them which lay on the bed in front of her.

Taking a slow, deep breath, she continued. "And I know how ridiculously small a thing it is to be concerned with, but I was thinking about… Taylor's necklace…" She pressed her lips together, not quite able to get any more words out just then. Her eyes were still closed.

She couldn't see it, but he smiled sadly at her. _Nothing can be easy for her, can it?_ he thought, wishing that he could make it all just make it all go away. The one thing that he'd tried to give her that would be special, that would be _hers_ , and it turned out that now even _that_ felt like a piece of someone else's life. It _was_ a piece of someone else's life, after all.

"I gave it to _you_ ," he reminded her gently.

"You gave it to me when we thought I was Taylor," she corrected him. "But as we know, I'm _not_ Taylor." Her voice cracked, and she opened her eyes, turning slightly to look at him with wide, sad eyes.

No, she wasn't Taylor, and she'd gone through hell because of the way they'd found out that she wasn't Taylor… _because of me_ , he thought again.

Identity was a tricky thing, and she was struggling with it, as she had for as long as he'd known her. Maybe she always would. He just hoped that he would say the right thing _now_. It was important that she understand that none of that mattered to him, because she was the one. Her. _Jane_.

"It's okay if you don't want it. I understand," he told her, hoping that she could feel how sincerely he meant what he said. "But it's okay if you _do_ want it, too. I know you're not Taylor, and I hope you know by now that that doesn't matter. As for the necklace being Taylor's… Well, I think that Emma Shaw would want you to have it." He paused, watching her process what he was saying, then he took his hand reluctantly out from between hers and stood up, walking to his dresser and opening the top drawer. From the far corner, he carefully retrieved the necklace, closed the drawer and walked back over to her.

Sitting back down beside her, he opened his palm and held it there. She had turned over, sitting partway up against her elbow, and was watching him carefully. "Like I said, it's okay if you don't want it," he told her again. "I'll get you something else." She looked up at him and smiled weakly at the absolute sincerity of his offer, and the fact that he was casually offering to _buy her jewelry_. Even in her current state, that part hadn't been lost on her.

"You have it…?" she said in surprise. "I wondered what happened to it…"

He nodded, looking away for a second. "They should have left it with your things when you were processed," he admitted. "But… well, one of the agents brought it to me directly, and I…" he wasn't proud of either his thoughts or his actions at the time when he'd arrested her, or in the days that had followed. He'd been so angry, and he'd felt that getting the necklace back was the only way to hold onto a tiny fragment of Taylor. It was only later that he realized that it wasn't Taylor that he wanted to hold onto. "Like I said, if it's too—"

"No," she said, shaking her head and reaching her hand slowly towards it, "I…" she paused, trying to gather her thoughts. "I just didn't want to have it if… you didn't want me to. Since I'm not… _her_." She touched the chain on his palm, which he continued to hold open between them, but didn't take it. Instead, she traced the path of the necklace until she reached the circular pendant, the one that had the small green stone that had matched Taylor's eyes. That matched _her_ eyes.

For a moment, her eyes were clouded with unhappiness, as she thought about the little girl that Kurt had loved so much as a child, who had never had a chance to grow up. The girl who they'd all thought was her. She might have no identity, no past, but at least she was still alive. Poor Taylor had never had that chance. After everything that had happened, it was ironic that she now almost felt connected to the girl, despite the fact that she'd spent so long insisting that she _couldn't_ be her, that she knew nothing about her.

He was watching her steadily, she realized. Her finger had stopped moving when it had reached the pendant, and now she moved the necklace out of the way and pressed her finger gently against his skin, moving it slightly, similarly to what he'd done for her in the interrogation room. She had a sudden flashback, remembering the day she'd held his hand as he'd been wheeled to an ambulance on gurney, with an oxygen mask over his face. When she'd been afraid that he was going to die.

For the millionth time, she felt a surge of appreciation for him, and for everything that she had come so close to losing so many times. She remembered telling him, _"I've never lost anyone before. At least, not anyone I can remember."_

And just as clearly in her head, she heard his reply, _"You're lucky. It takes time."_ She couldn't help but wonder if this kind of loss every really healed… and, after everything, how he _really_ felt about her not being Taylor.

Looking back up at him, she asked simply, "Are you sure?" He just nodded, smiling slightly, and traced her index finger, which was still in his palm, with his thumb before uncurling the necklace from his hand, reaching both of his hands back to put it over her head.

In her head, she heard the words that Rich Dotcom had said to her in the elevator that night, going to what they'd thought was a Gatsby themed party… _"Yeah he really seems to worry about you, a lot…"_ She'd been very conscious of her audience, and had said, " _We are a part of the team, and teams look after each other."_ She remembered that her companion hadn't bought it, however, and had replied, " _Right… I mean, it's for sure more than that, but hey… A for effort."_ And then, just before he'd hang glided off the roof of the building, his last words to her had been even more direct. _"Jane, listen to me. Life is short. You follow your heart. Tell Weller how you feel._ "

And then she remembered… that her feelings were the one thing that she _hadn't_ confessed, the only thing. She'd told him _everything else_ , but never how she felt about him. About Mayfair and Carter and Oscar and Cade, all her flashbacks… _everything._ Except that she loved him. But surely… by now he knew… Except that if she _didn't_ tell him, would they ever move past the limbo they seemed to be stuck in?

And then she heard Patterson, that night in the locker room, after David… _"I wasted so much energy on why it wouldn't work. When I could have been…. I_ _ **loved**_ _him. And… and I… he was right in front of me and I should have just held onto him and instead I just pushed him away."_

He was watching her, and could see that her attention was elsewhere. Still, she didn't look upset, not at first, anyway, just thoughtful, so he didn't try to interfere, simply lowered his hands from where they'd been behind her head, putting the necklace back on her, back down to her hand, which lay on the bed in front of her. Something in her face changed then, and a look of determination came over her.

She looked up at him then, and then she said one thing that surprised him. "There's something I didn't tell you, at the FBI."

 _What could she possibly have left out? And why did she look so calm?_ He got the feeling that while it may be a confession, it was a different kind.

"We don't really… the two of us… there's a lot of things we don't _need_ to say. It's like, we just _know_ , somehow…" He nodded, listening, and wondering what she was building up to. He still couldn't get over how fascinatingly calm she was. It was something he hadn't seen from her in a long time.

For a second, she was lost in thought again. This time she heard Kurt's voice in her head. _"You okay? Something on your mind?"_

" _I don't know how to say this,"_ she'd replied seriously.

" _It's okay,"_ he'd assured her, _"tell me."_

" _Kurt, I, uh, I totally beat you up the stairs."_

" _Really? Wow. Alright, fine. Whatever helps you sleep at night."_

" _You owe me a drink. And you still owe me one from my birthday."_ The birthday that hadn't actually been her birthday. The thought only stung a little, and she forced herself to move past it.

" _Wow, rackin' up the debt,"_ he'd replied.

" _Never seems to work out,"_ she'd shrugged.

 _That's a cop out_ , the voice in her head interjected now. _Maybe it would, if you'd do something to_ _ **make**_ _it work out._

 _It's not that easy,_ she'd thought defensively.

 _Maybe if you_ _ **say it**_ _…_ the voice in her head told her.

Now she looked down, and found him holding her hand. She smiled, pulling herself to sit up. "I don't know how I don't give you emotional whiplash," she said, shaking her head.

He shrugged, chuckling to himself. "You keep life exciting, that's for sure." She was sitting cross legged in front of him now, and she looked down and smiled. Once again, her hands had ended up in his.

She took a deep breath, wondering how in the world she was going to do this. He had told her long ago that he and Allie had never been very good at communicating, and she was determined not to end up like that… Still, now that she was trying to say it…

"I didn't tell you that…" she stopped, biting her lip, and looked up at him, into those eyes that she could somehow always get lost in. Which was exactly what was happening now, rendering her speechless. What _was_ it about him, anyway?

 _You love him, stupid_ , her inner voice said. _What do you think I've been trying to tell you all along?_

She chuckled again, because how could she not? Kurt would definitely have long since decided that she was crazy, the way she was acting.

"It's just that, I…" _Seriously, why were words failing her so completely?_

He looked at her, smiling as if he knew a secret that he was dying to tell her. "I know you do," he said matter-of-factly. Then, leaning forward towards her, he stopped with about two inches left between them. "I love you, too." She stared at him, her mouth slightly ajar in surprise, as he leaned the rest of the way forward, kissing her. It took her a second before her mind caught up, and she could respond, which he only found all the more endearing.

Sitting back to look at her, he couldn't help but smile at her, because she was clearly still in shock. "You're going to tell me you _didn't know_?" he asked her in amusement. Unsure what to say, she felt herself blushing.

"I mean… Maybe… I guess I never really…" she stammered, which only made him chuckle. Letting go of her left hand, he used his right hand to push a strand of hair behind her ear, withdrawing it slowly and leaning forward again, stopping less than an inch in front of her this time.

"Never what?" he whispered.

"Never let myself believe it. Not _really,_ " she replied in a voice that was barely a whisper, looking away despite how close together their faces were. "It's harder to be disappointed when you're wrong if you don't let yourself quite believe it in the first place." He used one finger against her cheek to get her to look back at him.

"I think you've learned the wrong lesson," he told her. She looked at him questioningly, waiting for him to tell her the _right_ lesson. "Sometimes heartache is part of life," he admitted, glancing down at her necklace for a split second, then back up at her.

 _If anyone knows heartache, it's Kurt_ , she thought sympathetically, watching him. She swore she'd seen sadness in his eyes for a second, but it was gone just as quickly, and now he was looking at her just as intently as she was looking at him. They were still so close their faces were almost touching.

"But," he continued, "you can't let it control you. Not that I'm one to talk, I suppose… but I learned it the hard way. I guess we all have to do that sometimes."

She just nodded, staring into his eyes, watching him stare back at her. Finally, after what felt like more than a few very long seconds, she smiled. "I love you," she whispered, then leaned forward the last inch, and kissed _him_ this time.

Later, after they'd finally gotten around to eating all the toast and she'd promised to eat something even more substantial the next day, they'd agreed that it was time to go back to sleep. After all, there was a lot to make up for – both sleep, and simply time spent together.

They were lying in bed, facing each other with their fingers laced loosely together, both starting to get drowsy but not wanting to go to sleep yet. "Did you ever wonder… how we ended up here?" she asked him after a few minutes of silence. Then, shaking her head slowly, she added, "I mean, I _know_ how we ended up here – plan, tattoos, memory wipe and boom!" He couldn't help but smile at her six word summary of what was such a complex situation. "But what were the odds, in the grand scheme of things, that it would happen this way?" she asked.

She was silent, and he watched her, unable to think of an answer. He got the feeling that the question had been rhetorical, anyway. Still, he couldn't help but think about it.

"Maybe it was because… I was never lucky…" he began slowly, breaking off as he was suddenly lost in thoughts of the past. Not realizing that he wasn't finished, she laughed ruefully, hanging her head and thinking that what he was saying was that they'd ended up there because of his bad luck.

"No, that's not what I mean," he said quickly, realizing how it had sounded and squeezing her hands. "I was never lucky. _Before_ I met you. My whole life, I wondered why I'd been singled out – or it felt like it anyway – for bad things to happen to me. From the time Taylor disappeared, a cloud hung over me and I couldn't get myself out from under it, no matter what I did. Even later, in this job, no matter how many people I helped, no matter how many people I _saved_ , it didn't matter. Nothing I did was ever enough… It always felt… empty. No matter how hard I tried to atone for losing Taylor…"

Now it was her turn to squeeze his hands in hers, shaking her head and opening her mouth to argue. She'd meant it back when she'd told him that it hadn't been his fault, back when she'd thought _she_ was Taylor. The fact that they now knew that she wasn't didn't change the fact that ten year old Kurt had not been responsible for Taylor's disappearance.

"But… ending up here with you…" he continued, "maybe that's my reward for making it through the rest of it."

She felt her voice catch in her throat, suddenly, choked on a surge of emotion that she hadn't seen coming. "I'm not a reward," she whispered, swiping in vain at the tears that were suddenly on her cheeks. Despite his sincere and repeated reassurances, she still had trouble seeing herself as anything other than a liability much of the time. Though she'd honestly thought that she'd cried all the tears that she could possibly cry in more than one lifetime already, somehow they seemed to have refilled.

"Oh yes you are," he whispered. He dropped one of her hands so that he could reach up and tuck a strand of hair behind her ear, and then he wiped a few stray tears from her cheek with this thumb, which still hovered nearby. "We've been over this. That wasn't you. It was _her._ Whatever else you think you've done, Jane, you saved me from myself. And that's something _no one_ else could do. How we ended up here? You got me out from under that cloud. I'm just… I'm sorry that you had to lose everything for it to happen this way."

She shrugged, shaking her head. "I'm not," she replied simply. "I don't know much about the other me, or what happened to her… but what I know is… I'm exactly where I'm supposed to be. So whatever had to happen for me to get here… it was worth it."

"For me, too," he replied softly.

"Even… those twenty-five years?" she asked in surprise, hesitating slightly. Surely he wasn't saying that all those years of sadness over Taylor had been worth it…

"And twenty-five more, if I had to…" he replied without hesitation, looking her in the eye.

"But… Taylor?" she asked. Surely he wasn't saying that losing his childhood best friend had been worth it.

His hand was still on her cheek, his thumb moving slowly, back and forth. "I'm not saying that I'd have given up Taylor," he replied carefully. "That was never my choice. My father…" He stopped, inhaling heavily, and shook his head. "She was gone, and when I think about it objectively, I know that there was nothing I could have done… Torturing myself for twenty-five years? No, I didn't exactly choose that, either. All I'm saying is, if I _had_ to endure twenty-five more years like that to end up here, I would." She nodded, overwhelmed by his declaration. She couldn't begin to imagine what twenty-five even felt like, much like the ones he'd endured.

"Though, I'd much rather be here with you," he added, leaning his face closer to hers and smiling.

"That makes two of us," she replied, touching her nose gently against his, feeling her face melt into a smile. She leaned back slightly so that she could see him better, knowing that she probably had a dopey grin on her face.

They were quiet for a minute, and he just watched her as she lost herself in thought again. It happened a lot, but he didn't mind. She had so many things to process, after all…and honestly, just the chance to stare at her from so close felt like a privilege that he barely deserved.

"What am I going to do now…?" she asked him. Her whole future was a question mark, and her panic came and went at random, the fear of uncertainty sometimes taking her by surprise.

"This may sound annoyingly familiar, but we're going to figure it out," he told her soothingly, knowing that it was the same thing he'd told her since they'd first met, and that it wasn't likely to make her feel much better than it had the first time he'd said it.

She exhaled loudly, shaking her head at the fact that in a way, she was back to square one. Except that she wasn't. No, this time she was infinitely better off. After all, if she was going to have to face the aftermath of all of the destruction that her former self and their shadowy organization had created, at least she could do it with Kurt by her side. No lies, no secrets, no conspiracies or threats or cover ups. Not only that, but…

To his surprise, her thoughtful expression vanished and she smiled at him, leaning her face closer to his. "As long as there's a 'we' in that sentence, I know it'll be okay."

"I think you know me well enough by now to know that you're not getting rid of me," he said, leaning in to kiss her again.

"Promise?" she whispered a few minutes later, when they paused for air. He just leaned forward and kissed her again in reply. After all, they'd never really needed words anyway.


End file.
